Eurt
by Daniel A. Olivas

Side A: October 15, 1989

Patrick, boy, is this thing on? I can't tell. They get smaller all the time. Let me see that. Don't worry, I won't hurt it. Toshiba? Japanese? Used to be that when something didn't work, we'd say it was made in Japan. Not anymore. What? Oh, yeah. Where do you want it? Okay. Should I lean into it when I talk? No? Okay, Patrick. What do you want me to talk about for this, what do you call it? Oral history? You kids sure like those old stories. I know it's for a grade, but admit you like this shit. Oh, sorry. I'll watch it. Okay, which story do you want? No, not that. Too personal. What else? Really? The St. Francis Dam? Sure. Suit yourself. Don't know what kind of grade you'll get, but I'll oblige because you're my favorite grandchild. Don't laugh. It's true.

Okay, here goes. As I've told you before, not many of us know why Eurt's mother named him Eurt. Strange name. Pronounced "yurt" like the word "hurt" but with a "y." Certainly not a name you could find in the Bible nor is it a name befitting a Mexican child. Well, actually, part Mexican. Because Eurt's mother was not Mexican but some kind of white maybe with a little Pueblo Indian mixed in her, or so some of us figured. The viejas who knew Sarah said she came from New Mexico. She had these high cheekbones and Asian eyes and she was topped off with glistening red blond hair that she kept in two tightly wound braids cascading like a waterfall down her back. So, the viejas said she must have Pueblo blood mixed in with maybe Irish or English or maybe even Swedish or German. Too beautiful and strange for her own good, the viejas clicked through their toothless, puckered gums. And the men. Shit. Oh, sorry. I mean, "shoot." Better?

Anyways, the men couldn't get enough eyefuls of Sarah. All the men. White, Negro, Chinese, Mexican. All the men. But only one man, Alfonso Villa - a distant cousin of the great Pancho Villa - made any kind of impression on Sarah. Which is a shame. Because, if Sarah had fallen in love with any other man, even me, she'd probably be alive today. She'd be as old as me. But you know women live longer than men, usually. And that whole horrible incident with Eurt never would've happened. But you can't rewrite history, and you never can figure when one act, one innocent and even good act, might set in motion a series of happenings that end up creating an evil result. Evil. That's the only word for what happened.

It was May 1927 when Alfonso and I first saw Sarah. We were working the farms near the Santa Clara River, around Saugus not too far from the San Fancisquito Canyon -- Six Flags Magic Mountain is around there now, I think -- and we were living in a makeshift camp set up cheap for us workers. Mostly Mexican and some Chinese. Could see the St. Francis Dam from where we slept. Smelly place. And goddamn dusty. Sorry, but there is no other way to say it. Goddamn dusty. You can edit that later, Patrick. Anyways, though I'm white, I lived for almost ten years in Chihuahua when my papa dragged me and my older sister Elsie out of Dallas away from my crazy mother. Papa just wanted to get us the hell out of the state, out of the goddamn country because mama was dangerous and who knows what she would have done to her two children. See this scar here? Mama put the edge of a hot frying pan there just to teach me not to talk back. Well, that was the last straw. So, papa saw fit to take us away.

The years passed - ten to be exact -- and papa fashioned leather goods for a living. And me and Elsie lived just like the Mexicans. Even went to school run by priests even though we're Protestant, at least by tradition. After we got word that mama died, sometime in spring of 1924, we came back north because papa just missed this country. But he wanted something new. So, we settled in California by the Santa Clara River. Poor Elsie died a year later of influenza and papa followed her just a half year after that with cancer. There was just me. And I didn't give a good goddamn what I did for a living as long as I made enough to eat, drink and to buy some time with a good whore now and again. Sorry. Edit that if you want.

When Alfonso and I first saw Sarah, I'd been working the Fredrickson farm for almost three years. Seasonal work, you know. But it kept me with the right amount of money for my needs. I was nineteen and he was twenty-one or two. Anyway, Alfonso and I had worked a long day and we were having some good beer at this little bar with this big sign over the front door that said THE TIN ROOF. It mostly catered to us farm workers but a lot of other folks came on in because it had good prices and some decent food, too. Alfonso and I had hit it off pretty good the year before because I'd lived in Chihuahua, like I said, and he had lots of relatives on his mother's side who still lived there. My Spanish was good and his English was even better. So, we were as close as we could be not being related or anything. We were drinking to that Lindbergh fellow who landed in Paris two days before. Everyone was so proud even though most of us couldn't figure how what he did could help us in any way. All the Mexicans and Chinese toasted him. So, we lifted our glasses and said To Lindy which is what they were calling that young man. The papers said his mother was so proud that she couldn't find words to express her joy. And President Coolidge sent some kind of congratulations through that embassy in Paris saying how the flight crowned the record of American aviation, whatever that means.

The funniest thing though, the part I like because I remember how hot and dirty I used to get back then -- even sixty years distance hasn't made me forget -- the newspapers said that Lindy was escorted to the embassy after landing and then fighting the crowds. He was in real need of a bath. So, the American Ambassador's son took Lindy to a room at the embassy where a hot bath waited. Before dipping into the tub, Lindy drinks some port and then some milk. Papers said Lindbergh relaxed for a real long time before he got out, combed his hair, put on a pair of silk, flowered pajamas, a silk bathrobe and - I like this part - Moroccan leather slippers. All this compliments of the Ambassador's son. And he gave a few newspaper interviews dressed just like that. I will never forget that story.

Patrick, need a drink or something? Diet Coke, the kind you like? Okay. Just offering.

So, anyways, here it was Tuesday night and we were hot and tired and getting a little drunk and toasting Lindbergh's landing in Paris and in walks this woman through the front doors. Beautiful. Alfonso's head swivels so fast I think it's going to come off. He had a nose, he did. Almost like radar. Beautiful woman within striking distance, Alfonso had his eyes trained on her within two seconds. Goddamn amazing skill, that. We stood at the bar which, if truth be told, was nothing more than a wide board set on bricks on either end with a white table cloth thrown over it to make it look nicer than it was. She came in and quickly glanced around. Sarah looked in a hurry or something. Nervous. I know why now but then, she looked as though she had lost something and needed to find it pronto.

Well, she eventually looks over to the bar and spies me and Alfonso. I kind of push my hair back off my forehead and straighten up some. I was foolish for women back then. Too old now. Alfonso? Well, he was a cool character. He was handsome and he knew it. Looked like his cousin, the great Pancho Villa, except even more handsome with smooth, brown skin like a baby's butt. Thick head of black, curly hair. Neat little mustache. I'm no queer or nothing, but he was the handsomest man I'd ever seen. So, Sarah eventually rests her eyes on him and it was over, I tell you. I had no chance in hell. She suddenly looks calmer like she found what she was looking for even though Alfonso never saw her before in his life and vice versa. Sarah saunters on over to us, smiling now, and sidles up to Alfonso. She orders a Coca-Cola and then just stands there waiting for the inevitable. Alfonso gives me a little wink and then turns to Sarah.

"How are you?" he asks her in almost perfect English. And she doesn't even turn to him. Can you believe it? She looks the other way at the window or something and she doesn't answer. Alfonso gives me a quick glance and smiles this little sly smile. This is going to be fun, he's thinking. I can tell he's going to play the game. Now, Sarah is wearing this very pretty Mexican dress. You know, the long, white cotton ones with pretty embroidery. It's a little loose on her but she looks beautiful. Her hair is perfectly braided and it glistens in the lamplight. Other men and even the women start to notice her.

Anyways, Alfonso tries something else. He says, "Señorita, let me introduce myself and my friend. I am Alfonso Villa and this is my very fine friend, James O'Hara."

Alfonso always became real formal when he got nervous. She turns and smiles with these white teeth and I could see Alfonso's knees buckle just a little. Even for him, Sarah's beauty could make him get weak.

She says, "I'm Sarah Garcia. But people call me Tootsie." Funny, isn't it. Tootsie! Like that goddamn movie with that little actor, what's his name? Yeah. Hoffman. But, that's what she said. And we both smiled like idiots. So, we kind of...what? Oh. Okay. Turn that tape over and I'll go take a pee if that's okay with you, Patrick boy.

Side B: October 15, 1989

Oh, goddamn. Life's simple pleasures! At least I'm not wearing diapers like some of my buddies. Okay, where was I? Yeah, that's right. So, we all start having a nice little conversation. Sarah's asking a lot of questions, mostly directed to Alfonso, and we answer them. She's real curious about our circumstances, you know. Money, women, stuff like that. And we talk, and talk the whole evening. And then we both walk Sarah - can't bring ourselves to call her Tootsie - to the little boarding house she lived at. Women only. Nice place. She says before we leave her that she cooked at this little café called Hanson's down at the main street and that they served up a real good Sunday breakfast. Said we should come by that weekend and that we'd not be disappointed. Well, goddamn, we were there that Sunday, me mostly to keep things from getting awkward for Alfonso which he appreciated. He'd done the same for me.

Anyways, their courtship started then. And it only lasted a month! They'd go on walks and Alfonso would buy her little things, he didn't have much money, but he was thoughtful about what he got her. And she smiled and patted his arm and called him Al which he thought was funny because it sounded so white, you know? Sometimes, I'd tease him and call him Al, too. During that time, he looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him before. What few creases he had on his forehead melted away like butter in a hot skillet whenever Sarah was around. Anyways, it all went pretty well so I wasn't too surprised when they decided to tie the knot. They married in a civil ceremony - Sarah hated churches and Alfonso was not such a religious man -- and then moved into a larger boarding house that took couples. Alfonso started working both the farm and any other side job he could find. He got goddamn respectable! But they seemed so happy. I couldn't complain if I saw less and less of him. He was a family man now.

Well, things got a little strange after a bit. See, Sarah got pregnant right away which made Alfonso real proud. But she started showing real early. Too early. And Alfonso got a little quiet, real lost in his thoughts, you know. He'd not hear whatever I was saying. But, eventually, when Sarah's belly was sticking out almost to Nevada, Alfonso seemed to accept things. After all, she was beautiful and good to him. Things could be worse. So, Sarah goes into labor one night in January 1928 during the off season so Alfonso was home a lot. I'll never forget that night. I was having a drink at the Tin Roof and Alfonso comes in looking pale. His hands shook and he was soaked through with sweat. He wore no jacket, just a thick shirt and I yelled at him that he was going to get pneumonia or something. He walks up to the bar and asks for a brandy and he just stares straight ahead. When his drink came, he threw it back and asked for another. He was making this little strange, squeaking sound with his mouth. His teeth, I guess.

"Hombre," I says. "¿Qué pasa?"

He throws back the second shot and asks for another. After finishing the third, he says, "The baby was born tonight."

I smile and hit him on the back. "Wonderful!" I yell. "You're a papa!" But he's not smiling. "What's wrong?" I ask.

And he tells me. Slowly at first. It was a horrible story. Are you sure you want this for your report, Patrick? Okay. Here goes.

When he came home that night from working at the McPheeter's ranch with the horses, Sarah was already in labor. This was seven months after they married. Anyways, she's in horrible pain and Alfonso says he wants to get someone to help but she screams "NO!" She says it's too late. He'd have to help her. Well, he realizes there's no way out so he goes and washes up and makes her as comfortable as possible. But she's in real pain and she's burning up with a fever and yelling weird things. That's when Alfonso first heard her scream out "EURT!" He didn't know what she was saying. But he put a wet cloth on her forehead and tried to calm her. She kept on yelling "EURT! EURT! EURT!" And then she calms down suddenly and the baby comes without much warning at all. It turned out to be an easy delivery. Except for that one thing.

Alfonso described that baby to me real slow. A boy. Overall, handsome with lots of dark hair. Dark skin. Could've been Alfonso's. But one thing wrong. His right hand. He had only one finger, the index finger. The rest of his hand was smooth and narrowed down to the wrist. Looked kind of like a wriggling snake, Alfonso said. And when the baby moved that one finger, chills went down his back. He said that when he showed the baby to Sarah, she didn't react at all. Not a smile, not a scream. She just reached for him and put his little mouth on her breast. Alfonso stood there, bewildered, and then the baby started to play with Sarah's other breast with that snake of a hand and Sarah didn't mind a bit. That's when he said he had to go get things for the baby but, instead, came right here to talk to me.

What did I say to him? Well, what would you say? I lied. I said it didn't matter. Plenty of kids are born without body parts and that's just life. At least the baby had one good hand. Said Sarah was one beautiful and kind woman and he had more than most men. This little speech and the booze seemed to calm him down some. I told him that his wife and son needed him right then and that he should go home. He nods slowly and has one more drink before leaving. But, despite my words of comfort, I felt sick. I knew something bad was going to happen. And, sad to say, I wasn't wrong.

As far as I know, they never baptized that baby. And Sarah insisted on naming him Eurt, that weird word she kept yelling when she went into labor. Alfonso couldn't deny his wife anything, so he agreed. Shit! What a name! Anyways, I tried to be a good friend and visited them as much as I could. But Eurt gave me the creeps. He was a handsome boy, but that hand and that stare! He'd stare at me like he was reading my thoughts. And he never smiled. I swear to God! I mean, that is not natural. You were a happy, smiling baby when my daughter brought you into this world nineteen years ago. Most babies are. But not this one. And Alfonso saw it, too. Only Sarah didn't seem to care. She cooed and sang to that baby like nothing was wrong. She loved that baby more than Alfonso, I'd say.

In March 1928, I was staying in the men's boarding house because it was the off season so I couldn't live in the camp. Had three or four odd jobs to keep me going until picking started again in a couple of months. One night, just before I went to sleep, Alfonso comes to visit. He looks sick. Pale, deep purple circles under his eyes, hair matted and greasy.

I ask him, "What's wrong?"

And I can't believe his answer: "They're killing me. Slowly killing me"

What the hell did that mean? I thought.

So, I says, "Who's trying to kill you, Alfonso?"

And he looks at me with eyes going wild: "Sarah and Eurt. And I think it's Eurt's idea, too." Now, what could I think? Alfonso's gone off the deep end?

So, I say, "Calm down, boy. No one's trying to kill you. What are they doing to you?"

And then he closes his eyes and I suddenly realize that he looks like a skeleton. He is so thin. Finally, after a few moments of silence, like he was listening to some voice, he says, "Poison. They're poisoning me."

"How?" I ask feeling more than a little shaky. "How?"

"The poison is everywhere. In my food, my drink, even in Sarah's kisses. And Eurt is behind it!"

Well, Patrick, I didn't know what to say except he certainly looked like he was moving from the land of the living pretty fast. I start to say something but he puts his hand on my shoulder, looks deep into my eyes and says, "I'll kill both of them before I let them kill me."

And I knew he meant it. So, crazy or not, what could I do? I had to think. So, I says, "Alfonso, boy, I've been thinking of moving out of this town. Maybe go up to 'Frisco. Good jobs up there. And not so goddamned hot. Come with me. Okay, hombre?"

He looks at me for a minute. Just a minute. And he says, "Yes, I will. Let's go tonight."

Shit! I hadn't really planned on going up north but I figured I'd better go with the flow, as you kids say nowadays. Because, if I didn't, my friend would commit a double murder soon. So, we packed. Yep. We had very little. Alfonso put a few dollars in a handkerchief and left it by the door of their boarding room. See, he still loved Sarah. He still had a heart. And then we left. We stole a couple of horses from the ranch Alfonso worked at and started north.

After about an hour or two, we hear something awful strange. First, it starts as a low rumble. Couldn't figure what it was. Then it gets louder. And we turn to look over at the river, in the direction of St. Francis Dam. We could see the outline of the structure, designed and built by William Mulholland, you know. He was L.A.'s chief water engineer back then. Built that dam to hold two years' worth of water in case an earthquake split the aqueduct. So, we think, maybe this is an earthquake. But what we saw made us lose our ability to breathe at that moment. The dam starts to shift and break apart and crumble. The noise of the water - two years' worth, mind you - shakes our bodies and the horses, too. Then we see it. A wall of water, ten stories high going into the valley and some toward us. I yell, "Shit! Let's get out of here!" Alfonso just stares at the water, he froze. I could see that he was thinking about Sarah. I yell again and he finally agrees and we make those horses run faster than they ever had before.

We rode until morning. About five hundred people died that night though maybe more did because a lot of the migrant farm workers weren't accounted for. We learned later that the water washed away whole towns like Castaic and Piru and anything near the river. Sirens and phone calls tried to alert people to outrun the water. Some made it. Many did not. Three hours after the dam broke, the town of Santa Paula, which pretty much evacuated, got hit destroying three hundred homes. And Santa Paula was forty-two miles downstream from the dam! Saugus got hit so bad. Totally destroyed. Sad stories, too. Like the fact that forty-two children at the Saugus Elementary School were washed away. Anyways, the names of everyone who died, or at least everyone they could identify, were listed in all the California papers the next few days. Alfonso and I saw Sarah listed, or so we thought. A woman by the name of "Tootsie Garcia" was there, listed on the front page of the Los Angeles Times. We don't know why they used her maiden name. Anyways, Eurt was not there. Maybe because he wasn't baptized so there was no record. And Alfonso didn't bother telling the authorities otherwise.

Well, you know the rest. Alfonso and I get up to 'Frisco, finally, and got pretty good work right away. He eventually married, again. Nice woman. Not so pretty. But they had five kids and twelve grandkids. Me, I married your grandmother, Hanna, God bless her soul. Had my three kids and seven grandkids including you. Alfonso died ten years ago. Cancer just like his papa. His wife followed him a year later. Heart just stopped. Her name was María. A good, honest woman, that.

Anything else? Isn't that enough, Patrick? Well, let me think. Yes, I guess there was something else. About four years ago, I was watching the CNN on that TV. And there's this story about a preacher in Bakersfield. He has this huge following. People say he can heal. Everyone who was healed swore by this man. They showed him preaching. Good looking fellow. Looked a lot like Alfonso. About sixty or so. Thick gray hair and a fine mustache. And I stared at him. Then he lifts up his left hand. It's a nice hand, long and well-manicured. Then he lifts the other. And my eyes almost burst from my head. The other hand was only a finger. Like a snake. Wriggling and pointing as he preached about hell and God's wrath. He used that hand to heal, they said. He went by the name of Veritas. Story ended and I just sat there for about ten minutes, not moving.

Well, Patrick. Good enough for your report? No, I don't have any explanations, and I'm afraid to even try to come up with some. Sometimes, in life, there aren't any. At least, none that you'd care to accept. You're young still. You'll see. Right now, while things are more black and white, I'd recommend that you just enjoy yourself. And I'll tell you one thing: wish I'd gone to college. Sounds like you're having some fun, interviewing old farts like me. Want a Diet Coke? Got plenty in the fridge. Okay, okay. Thought I'd be a good host. You are my favorite grandson, you know.

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