A Rare Thing is a story of redemption and forgiveness. In the small New Mexico town of San Carlos in the 1950s and 60s, a motherless Chicano youngster Javier Jimenéz, finds himself forced into an early manhood. The boy’s father, Nicolás, a Korean War veteran, drinks himself into the depths of alcoholism, struggling through life wallowing in self-pity. Javier tries his best to cope not only with his own loneliness but the day-to-day hardships of living with an alcoholic father.   Into this setting enters Deborah Perkins. She moves into Javier’s neighborhood. Javier and Deborah eventually fall in love, much to the chagrin of Deborah’s mother, who doesn’t’ share her husband’s fascination for Southwestern culture and believes her daughter can do much better than what Javier has to offer.   Tragedy strikes, and Javier moves to California to live with an aunt and uncle. Deborah and he struggle to continue their relationship despite the distance and Deborah’s mother’s prejudices. Confused and unsure of his future, Javier leaves college to join the Army and ends up in Vietnam, where he sees his fellow soldiers dying every day.   Reminiscing about his father, he must face his own mortality, as he grapples with his own identity. Nicolás’s spirit appears at a critical moment with words to give Javier strength. Contemplating the real possibility of his death, he reconciles with himself, gaining strength from visions of his father as a good man who had his share of bad luck. Javier comes to grips with whether he has forgiven him for his frailties and failure as a parent.

A RARE THING

A NovelBy Rudy Apodaca

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Rudy Apodaca
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4685-0724-9

Chapter One

1955—San Carlos, New Mexico

MAMÁ led me by the hand out of mass. It was a sun- filled Sunday morning and a beautiful spring day. The fragrance of flowers blooming in the church's garden and the coolness of the air swept my face as we walked outside, the sweet smell competing with the fresh scent of Mamá's soft skin.

She smiled when she spotted two friends along the side of the main exit to Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church. They stood talking near a stucco wall separating the south side of the church entrance from the lush courtyard filled with flowers alongside the church rectory and the priests' living quarters.

Still holding on to me, with her loose hand Mamá waved at the two women and walked the short distance to greet them.

"Hola, comadres," she said. "My dear friends." She let go of me to shake hands.

Next to the two shorter women, Mamá looked striking. Her high cheekbones and dark brown eyes that Daddy so admired glowed in the bright morning sun.

"Buenos días, Piedad," the taller of the two said.

Piedad was Mamá's middle name, which she went by instead of her given name, Maria. A common name in Mexico, where she was born, Piedad meant piety in Spanish.

Mamá turned to me and said in Spanish, "Stay close by, Javier, while I chat a little."

I was christened Xavier Quijana Ximénez, Quijana being Mamá's maiden name. Born and raised in Mexico, she liked the Mexican spelling of Ximénez, pronounced with a soft "J". I had trouble writing the X, so my parents let me use the American spelling, Javier Jiménez.

"And I don't want you wandering off," she added.

I frowned to let her know I wasn't looking forward to the boredom that was sure to come when the "little" chat turned into a big chat. Although only five, I had been in this fix before—ladies going on with their chatter of things I cared little about.

Standing only inches from Mamá, I fidgeted for awhile. They spoke fast, which wasn't hard to do in Spanish. Although I understood the language as well as English, I wasn't the least bit interested in what they were saying. So I began looking for things to do.

A narrow, brick path led through the gardens in the courtyard into the sacristy behind the church. Fancy wrought-iron spikes stood atop the four-foot wall, rising another four feet. They were bolted to the wall and welded together by metal bars running along the bottom and top near the spikes' tips.

I loved climbing the wall and holding onto the spikes as I moved along the edge. I especially enjoyed the view of the green courtyard on the other side. It was filled with evergreens, blooming flowers, and gigantic cottonwood and mulberry trees spreading their shade on the greenery below.

In the past, I entered the courtyard by first climbing the wall and by following its curve until it ended at the yard's gated entrance. The wall was high enough to get me into the yard even when the gate was locked.

Both climbing the wall and the courtyard were off limits to me. I knew that well, for Mamá had often warned me, explaining I'd get hurt if I fell—especially if I landed on my head.

Yet, the quietness of the greenery called out to me. In a matter of seconds, I found myself on top of the wall. Holding on tightly to the spikes so as not to lose my grip, I moved along as fast as I could.

Twice before, I had sneaked away from Mamá into the yard to hide behind the heavy undergrowth. It was my own little secret world. The fact that no one was allowed to play in the yard probably had something to do with my need to go there.

That one day, though, long before I rounded the corner out of sight, Mamá spotted me.

She was right behind me in a flash. I could actually feel her there even before I turned my head. I knew I was in real trouble the minute our eyes met. If looks could kill, I died a thousand times right then and there.

She lifted me by the shoulders and whipped me around to face her.

"I've told you before, young man." She pointed her long finger just inches from my face and shook it. "You're never to climb this wall!"

I couldn't remember when I'd seen her so angry.

She continued her sharp words. "Do you understand me, Javier?"

I was so stunned by the sudden change in her that for a few seconds I couldn't get the words out. She hadn't ever lost her cool like that.

"Do – you – un – der – stand?" She shook me by the shoulders.

"Yes, Mamá," I finally managed to utter.

She let go of me. "All right then."

Taking me by the hand, she turned back toward her friends and forced a smile. She rolled her eyes as if to say that as mothers themselves they'd understand her frustration. Giving them a quick wave and forcing another smile, she pulled me hard by the arm as she led me away for the walk home.

I began to cry.

"You shouldn't have done that." I spoke through my cries, wiping the tears away with my loose hand. "You hurt my feelings."

"You mean I embarrassed you in front of everyone, is that it?"

I nodded, wiping my tears. "Uh huh."

"I don't like scolding you in public either, Javier, but you gave me no choice." She stopped and turned me to face her. She squatted down. "It's the only way you'll learn to mind your padre and me. We do such things for your own good."

She looked away as if to give me time for her words to sink in. "You understand that, don't you, mijo?"

I stopped crying and looked her in the eye. Then I shrugged, not wanting to admit that I really did understand.

She shook her head, upset at me for my stubbornness. Getting up, she tried to take my hand, but I kept pulling away.

I walked alongside her. "I'm mad at you." As if she didn't already know.

"Be angry, then." She sighed. "As long as you learn to obey your padres, you can stay mad at me forever if that's what you want."

For a few days afterward, still very much wanting to show Mamá that she embarrassed me, I moped when she was around. I spoke only when spoken to.

During those days, Daddy was away hunting with two friends. The day before he was to return, I made up my mind that when he showed up, it wasn't going to change things for me. I'd keep on sulking until Mamá apologized for scolding me in public.

I could tell she understood what was going on for me but chose to ignore it.

Twice—when she got me up in the morning and at the dinner table—she gave me a tight squeeze and kissed me on the forehead without a word, but I didn't hug her back.

Daddy got home late afternoon that day, a few hours before Mamá expected him. I was sitting in the front room playing when he walked in the front door. Mamá was fixing a pot of stew in the kitchen.

Surprised, I rushed to Daddy without thinking and gave him a big abrazo around his legs.

"Hola, Javier," he said with a big smile, squeezing me tight and lifting me up into his arms. "Daddy missed you! Did you miss him?" He hugged me.

I nodded but said nothing. I didn't even smile.

He gave me a puzzled look and put me down. I picked up my toys from the floor and went into my room not bothering to shut the door.

"Bienvenido, mi amor," I heard Mamá greet Daddy as she came out of the kitchen into the front room. "We've missed you, Nicolás."

"And I, you." He made the grunting sound he always made whenever he picked up Mamá off the floor and spun her around.

"What's with Javier?" he said in a lower voice.

I heard their steps as Mamá led him into the kitchen. She began explaining what happened at church. No telling what about my sulking for I couldn't hear what she was saying to him once they entered the kitchen.

The next day, Daddy too acted as if nothing was wrong. Once, I heard him whisper to Mamá in their bedroom that maybe they should have a talk with me.

I snuck up to their bedroom door so I could hear what they were saying.

"Para que razón, Nicolás?" she said. "For what reason?"

"To set things straight with him."

"Déjalo. Let him be."

"Pero por qué? But why?"

"Soon he'll put the incident behind him as a lesson learned."

She was right. Her usual self, her loving, carrying nature, took hold of me once again, and I soon went back to showing my love for her with hugs and kisses.

I thought she was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. The rest of the week, I told her that whenever she'd come into my room and lay down on the bed with me or I went into hers. I might have been trying to make up for treating her so shabbily.

She laughed softly and wrapped her arms around me whenever I said that. I was happy once again in my little world, but not for long.

Chapter Two

ONE evening that summer, I was playing on the front room floor, my second favorite hangout in our modest, rented house. My bedroom was my first.

Our front room was simple, but it had Mamá's touch. She may not have been a professional decorator, but her good taste was visible everywhere. It didn't matter that our off-white walls weren't only discolored but peeling. Mamá fixed that with well-placed framed prints that gave the place her special warmth.

Mamá and Daddy sat on the sofa, making plans for a trip we were taking to San Diego, California, to visit Daddy's only living relative, my Tío Alejandro and his wife, my Tía Sofia. I barely remembered them but recalled that she was good to me the few times they visited us.

Daddy was enjoying a bottle of beer as he and Mamá talked of the upcoming trip near the end of summer, just before I started first grade.

Daddy gulped the last of his beer and was about to get up to fetch another one. Mamá stood up and put her hand on his shoulder, insisting she'd get it for him. She took the empty bottle from him and started for the kitchen when, without warning, she fell to the floor.

I caught a glimpse of her going down but didn't see what made her fall.

Daddy rushed to where she fell and bent over her. He shook her.

"Piedad! Can you hear me?" He shook her again, harder.

"What happened, Daddy?" I ran to where Mamá lay. I was still trying to make sense of what I had just seen. "Did she trip?"

"I don't think so. She must have fainted."

I could see the panic in his eyes.

He spoke to Mamá again. "Piedad, mi amor! Abre tus ojos si puedes! Open your eyes if you can!"

She lay limp in Daddy's arms, not moving an inch.

That's when I began to panic myself. I started crying. "Mamá! Please do what Daddy says. Open your eyes!"

Daddy stood up, his eyes ablaze with fear. "You stay here with your Mamá, Javier! I'm going across the street to call an ambulance."

From then on, everything that happened during the next few days was a blur. I couldn't remember the ambulance's coming or Daddy's leaving me at a neighbor's while he went with the ambulance to the hospital. All I could remember was my crying myself to sleep in a strange bed that didn't smell like mine and my waking up in the morning wanting Mamá to come home, and my longing for things to be as they were before.

On the morning of the third day after Mamá was taken away, Daddy came home from the hospital a broken man. Even though he tried to act tough in front of me, I could tell. He spent the whole day before and all night by her side while I stayed at our neighbor's house.

According to Daddy, Mamá never opened her eyes or moved a muscle the whole time he was with her. She was in a coma, the doctors explained, after having suffered a burst blood vessel in her brain.

Although she wasn't able to talk, Daddy would tell me when he'd come to check on me that he talked to her, telling her we loved her.

"Could Mamá hear you, Daddy?"

He looked at me with sad eyes. "I don't honestly know, mijo." He spoke almost in a raspy whisper. "I hope so."

Mamá died peacefully in her sleep late in the afternoon of the fourth day.

I learned later that it took two burly men to pull Daddy away from Mamá's bedside hours after she passed away.

That evening, when Daddy dragged himself away to take me home, he tried to explain that Mamá was dead. She'd no longer be with us, he said.

"You're not going to see her again, Javier," he repeated when I kept asking when she'd be coming home.

"Never?" I spoke in a halting voice.

"No," he whispered as he put his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him. His eyes appeared sunken and darker than usual from lack of sleep. "Nunca, mijo. Not ever, son."

I felt him quiver.

He wasn't able to keep the tears back, and so I cried too. Something terrible had happened. Mamá would never be with us again.

Daddy didn't cry in front of me when he told me those things, at least not a real, hard cry. His eyes would become misty, and that's all. I didn't think anything of it at first; I thought grownups weren't supposed to cry. An idea of death wasn't clearly fixed in my mind.

That night, as I lay awake long after Daddy put me to bed, I heard a muffled sound coming from his and Mamá's bedroom. I got out of bed and crossed the room to listen through the thick wall separating my room from theirs, but I couldn't make out the sound. I walked out of the room and tip-toed to the door leading to Daddy's room. I still couldn't tell what the sound was.

Finally, I called out softly, "Daddy?"

When I didn't get an answer, I quietly opened the door and peeked in. The room was dark, but I could see Daddy's outline on the bed. Alone now in his own room, he was weeping into the pillow, his body shaking with every sob. What he couldn't do in front of me, he saved for when he was alone.

What I saw scared me because I'd never before seen Daddy cry like that. I thought of going to him and of getting up on the bed by his side. Yet a part of me told me he wanted to be alone and that he might get angry if he knew I was there.

I closed the door and returned to my bed.

I thought of Mamá. Aside from recalling the fresh smell of her soft skin and of her long, freshly washed hair, there was one picture of her I saw over and over again. It was of her leading me by the hand out of mass that Sunday morning and of my embarrassment that followed just months before.

Later, when I'd think back on that day, I thought maybe I recalled it because I felt guilty for having done something that displeased her. I'd have given anything for the chance to take it all back and to tell her I was sorry.

My Tío Alejandro and Tía Sofia came to Mamá's funeral. They and Father Brannon, pastor at Our Lady of Guadalupe, who said the rosary and the mass at the funeral, helped Daddy and me get through those bleak days after we buried Mamá. My tío and tía spent the rest of the week with us. That was a good thing because Daddy spent most of his time shut away in the bedroom, hardly eating what my tía cooked for us.

Tía Sofia tried hard to talk me into playing with my toys so I wouldn't have time to worry about Daddy or think of Mamá. She even bought me a new metal dump truck to get me started. I left it and my other toys untouched, even when Tío Alejandro took them out and sat down on the floor with me to play.

Instead, I'd join Daddy in his room. I'd get on the bed next to him, but he acted as if I weren't there, even though his eyes were open and he could see me. Twice, when he was facing away and I got up on the bed behind him, he actually moved, placing his hand on my leg and patting it a couple of times to let me know he knew I was there but chose not to say anything.

Several times, Tía Sofia forced me out of Daddy's room. She'd take me outside to walk around the block. Tío Alejandro would then enter the bedroom and talk to Daddy while my tía and I were on our walk. He'd still be in there when we returned, but all I could hear was his low voice as he spoke to Daddy. I couldn't make out his words.

Before they left for San Diego, my tío and tía tried to talk Daddy into making the trip to visit them as we had planned.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from A RARE THINGby Rudy Apodaca Copyright © 2012 by Rudy Apodaca. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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