The Woman in Oil Fields Read Online Free Page B

worst movie theater, and bought a ticket to a movie called Hollywood Student Hookers . I never knew, in advance, what was playing at the Shamrock, or what time the films started. I came to watch the audience: predominantly black, several generations bunched together in the seats – Great-grandad in the middle, Mom and Dad, festive kids spilling ice on the floor. Everyone talked to the screen.
    â€œDon’t go in there you fool, he waitin’ for you!”
    â€œNow you gonna get it.”
    â€œYo ass be grass.”
    A circus of insults.’
    Hollywood Student Hookers had been playing for half an hour. I took a sticky seat. A woman shot a man in the face.
    â€œI tol’ you, sucker,” someone yelled at the screen.
    I sat through two showings of the film, greatly enjoying the crowd. Afterwards I swung by Prince’s for shakes to take to the girls.
    Twice a week I babysat Monica and Kate while Kelly tutored her English students. One day I took them to the “Orange Show” on Houston’s east side. That retired postman I’d interviewed had built a monument there to his favorite fruit, using scraps, pieces of farm equipment, and masonry tile. Winding metal staircases, red umbrellas, Texas flags. Stages for music and puppets. I loved to see the girls in my car, the way they sank into the seats like little dolls. Before we’d got in the Beast for this trip, Monica had cut the side of her foot on a sliver of glass in the street. Kleenex and tears.
    â€œGeorge, I’m bleeding on my shoe.”
    â€œIt’s all right, honey. Press down with the Kleenex.”
    Kate shot passing cars with a straw. “Our daddy was supposed to call us last night but he didn’t,” she said. She liked to comb the Chrysler’s goatskin seats.
    â€œGeorge, I can’t walk!”
    â€œWhen we get there we’ll get you a piece of ice to put on it.”
    Ten minutes later she was running up and down the metal stairs. It was late afternoon, with a full moon low in the sky.
    Watching the puppets, Kate leaned her small body against my back, resting her head on my shoulder, asking questions about the action onstage.
    â€œWhat’s that clown doing?”
    â€œReading.”
    â€œReading what?”
    â€œA letter from someone very far away.”
    â€œFarther than the end of the street?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œFarther away than the moon?”
    â€œJust about.”
    â€œOh,” she said, twisting around into my arms. “When will my daddy call?”
    â€œI don’t know, Kate.” Kelly’s ex was a traffic engineer in San Diego.
    â€œI go see him in the summer.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWe go swimming.” She crawled off my lap. I showed her the evening star.
    ______
    In the next three weeks, fourteen Salvadorans, eight Mexicans, and a Guatemalan boy were arrested at the Casa, on charges ranging from burglary and smuggling to possession of illegal substances. Casa Romero was ordered closed, its furniture impounded. Deportation proceedings began against nine of the Latins.
    â€œI’m going to Arizona,” Kelly told me one day soon after.
    â€œWhat’s in Arizona?”
    â€œHarry has some friends there who’re setting up a shelter. Desert community. Sympathetic to the cause.”
    I touched her knee. “Are there freeways in Arizona? I’m not happy unless I’m on a freeway.”
    â€œI know.” She smiled sadly.
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œYes. I want to do this.”
    â€œI’ll miss you,” I told her, stunned.
    â€œMe too.” She tried not to cry. “You’re a real good talker, George.”
    ______
    Driving through the barrios, gazing at graffiti on old city walls: U.S. OUT OF GUATEMALA, U.S. OUT OF WESTERN EUROPE, U.S. OUT OF NORTH AMERICA.
    A kid on a bike shot me the finger, out of the blue. I laughed. How could I leave this place, this seething gumbo of spicy, bad