I get my coat, turn on the alarms and lock the door, walk with her down the block to the emergency room. I go in to be sure she gets registered. Dr. McGee is on call. Good.
“Dr. McGee is a sweet old doctor. He’ll take care of your Jesus. They’ll probably operate on him tonight. Don’t forget to call to bring the baby to the office. In about a week. Call us. Oye, for God’s sake, don’t feed him.”
* * *
It was crowded on the subway and the bus but I wasn’t afraid. Jesus was sleeping. It seemed like the Virgin Mary answered me. She told me to take my next welfare check and go home to Mexico. The curandera would take care of my baby and my mamacita would know how to stop him from crying. I would feed him bananas and papayas. Not mangos because sometimes mangos give babies stomachaches. I wondered when babies got teeth.
Lupe was watching a telenovela when I got home. Her kids were asleep in the bedroom.
“Did he get the surgery?”
“No. Something happened.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. What dumb thing did you do? Huh?”
I put him down in our corner without waking him up. Lupe came into the kitchen.
“I found a place for you. You can stay there at least until you find your own place. You can get your next check here and then tell Welfare your new address. Do you hear me.”
“Yes. I want my check money. I’m going home.”
“You’re crazy. First place, this month’s money is spent. Whatever you have is the last of it. Estas loca? It wouldn’t get you even halfway to Michoacán. Look, girl, you’re here. Find a job in a restaurant, someplace they’ll let you stay in the back. Meet some guys, go out, have some fun. You’re young, you’re pretty, would be if you fixed yourself up. You’re as good as single. You’re learning English fast. You can’t just give up.”
“I want to go home.”
“Fuck a duck,” she said and she went back to the tele.
I was still sitting there when Ramón came in the back door. I guess he didn’t see her on the sofa. He started grabbing my breasts and kissing my neck. “Sugar, I want some sugar!”
“Ya estuvo,” she said. To Ramón she said, “Go soak your head, you stinking fat pig,” and shoved him out of the room. To me she just said, “You’re out of here. Get all your shit together. Here’s a plastic bag.”
I put everything in my bolsa and the bag, picked up Jesus.
“Go on, take him and get in the car. I’ll bring the things.”
* * *
It looked just like a boarded-up old store but there was a sign, and a cross over the door. It was dark but she banged on the door. An old Anglo man came out. He shook his head and said something in English but she talked louder, pushed me and Jesus through the door and took off.
He turned on a flashlight. He tried to talk to me but I shook my head. No English. He was probably saying they didn’t have enough beds. The room was full of cots with women on them, a few children. It smelled bad, like wine and vomit and pee. Bad, dirty. He brought me some blankets and pointed to a corner, same size as my kitchen corner. “Thank you,” I said.
It was horrible. The minute I lay down, Jesus woke up. He wouldn’t stop crying. I made sort of a tent to keep the sound in, but some of the women were cussing and saying, “Shaddup shaddup.” They were mostly old white wino women but some young black ones who were shoving me and pushing me. One little one was slapping me with tiny hands like quick hornets.
“Stopit!” I screamed. “Stopit! Stopit!”
The man came out with the flashlight and led me through the room into a kitchen and a new corner. “Mis bolsas!” I said. He understood and went back in and brought my bags. “I’m sorry,” I said in English. Jesus nursed and fell asleep, but I leaned against the wall and waited for morning. I am learning English, I thought. I went over all the English I knew. Court, Kentucky Fry, hamburger, good-bye, greaser, nigger, asshole, ho, Pampers, How much? Fuck a duck, children, hospital, stopit, shaddup, hello, I’m sorry, General Hospital, All My Children, inguinal hernia, pre-op, post-op, Geraldo, food stamps, money, car, crack, pólis, Miami Vice, José Canseco, homeless, real pretty, No way, José, Excuse me, I’m sorry, please, please, stopit, shaddup, shaddup, I’m sorry. Holy Mary mother of God pray for us.
Just before light the man and an old woman came in and started to boil water for oatmeal. She let me help her, pointed to sugar and napkins to put in the middle of the lined-up tables.
We all had oatmeal and milk for breakfast. The women looked really bad off, crazy or drunk some of them. Homeless and dirty. We all waited in line to take a shower, by the time it was Jesus and me the water was cold and just one little towel. Then me and Jesus were homeless too. During the day the space was a nursery for children. We could come back at night for soup and a bed. The man was nice. He let me leave my bolsa there so I just took some diapers. I spent the day walking around Eastmont Mall. I went to a park but then I was scared because men came up to me. I walked and walked and the baby was heavy. The second day the little one who had been slapping me showed me or somehow I understood her that you can ride all day on the buses, getting transfers. So I did that because he was too heavy and this way I could sit down and look around or sleep when Jesus did because at night I didn’t sleep. One day I saw where La Clinica was. I decided the next day I’d go there and find somebody there to help me. So I felt better.
The next day though, Jesus started to cry in a different way, like barking. I looked at his hernia and it was pooched way out and hard. I got on the bus right away but still it was long, the bus then BART then another bus. I thought the doctor’s was closed but the nurse was there, she took us to the hospital. We waited a long time but they finally took him to surgery. They said they’d keep him for the night, put me on a cot next to a little box for him. They gave me a ticket to go and eat in the cafeteria. I got a sandwich and a Coke and ice cream, some cookies and fruit for later but I fell asleep it was so good not to be on the floor. When I woke the nurse was there. Jesus was all clean and wrapped in a blue blanket.
“He’s hungry!” she smiled. “We didn’t wake you when he got out of surgery. Everything went fine.”
“Thank you.” Oh, thank God! He was fine! While I fed him I cried and prayed.
“No reason to cry now,” she said. She had brought me a tray with coffee and juice and cereal.
Dr. Fritz came in, not the doctor that did the surgery, the first doctor. He looked at Jesus and nodded, smiled at me, looked over his chart. He lifted the baby’s shirt. There was still a scrape and a bruise on his shoulder. The nurse asked me about it. I told her it had been the kids where I was staying, that I didn’t live there no more.
“He wants you to know that if he sees any more bruises he is going to call CPS. Those are people who might take your baby, or maybe they will just want you to talk to somebody.”
I nodded. I wanted to tell her that I needed to talk to somebody.
* * *
We have had some busy days. Both Dr. Adeiko and Dr. McGee were on vacation so the other doctors were really busy. Several Gypsy patients, which always means the whole family, cousins, uncles, everybody comes. It always makes me laugh (not really laugh, since he doesn’t like any joking or unprofessional behavior), because one thing Dr. Fritz always does when he comes into the room is politely greet the parent, “Good morning.” Or if it’s both, he’ll nod at each and say, “Good morning. Good morning.” And with Gypsy families I suffer not laughing when he squeezes into the room and says, “Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning,” etc. He and Dr. Wilson seem to get a lot of hypospadias babies, which is when male babies have holes on the side of their penises, sometimes several so that when they pee it’s like a sprinkler. Anyway, one Gypsy baby called Rocky Stereo had it but Dr. Fritz fixed it. The whole family, about a dozen adults and some children, had come for the post-op and were all shaking his hand. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Worse than his good mornings! It was sweet and funny and I started to say something later, but he glared. He never discusses patients. None of them do, actually. Except Dr. Rook, but only rarely.