Philip Christman
It is an attempt to acquaint people with the "border",
both its inconsistencies and its everyday similarities to everyday living, as
experienced by four couples from disparate backgrounds, including the college
(Texas Western) and a fictitious hospital (El Paso Memorial), plus an equally
fictitious taxi company (Frontier Cab), bringing in a wide range of characters
from every direction.
The action takes place both in El Paso and Ciudad Juarez, both
in Spanish and English (translated), including insights into the feelings of
two widely different ethnic groups: the "Anglos" and the Spanish-speaking
persons. As such it transcends the obvious, bringing both groups down to an
understandable level, in an effort to breach the intangible and give them an
"understandable" humanity.
Born in Carthage, New York in august, 1930. Enlisted in the
United States Air Force in June 1949 - discharged as a weather observer in December
1952. Spent seventeen years in El Paso, Texas, earning a degree in History/Spanish
from The University of El Paso in 1966 - taught Spanish for four years. Worked
for the New York state department of labor for eighteen years, retiring in June
1996.
Essentially, the novel deals with the years lived along the
border, speaking fluent Spanish and raising a family of four while working various
jobs, finally re-locating back to New York State in 1967.
I owe a great deal to the many friends and acquaintances who
assisted me in the writing and re-writing his novel for five years, beginning
in 1997.
On a dusty March day in 1953 John Prieto crossed the bridge
from Juarez to El Paso. Sun shone brightly through the haze, always lending
monotony to the landscape, close to boredom. John felt the people in Mexico
wore bright colors to offset the somberness of days such as these, woven into
the fabric to alleviate their poverty. He understood the factor better than
most, having realized it early in life. He attired himself in comfortable clothing,
not colorless, but appropriate for schooling in El Paso. Despite his sun-burnished
appearance he easily passed for a native North American, with his lithe, six-foot
frame, easy stroll, and boyish Anglo looks. The people in El Paso found no problem
in treating him as a Texan.
George Matsas greeted him on the American side of the bridge.
“Hello, John.¿Como te vas? (How
goes it?).”
George had attended high school with John - He now worked as
an Immigration Officer.
“¿Bien, Jorge, y tu? (Well, George,
and you?).”
“Asi, asi (So, so). We’ve
had a busy day here on the bridge.”
“I wonder why?” John asked.
“Well, for one thing it’s a Saturday. For another,
they’re having a farewell bullfight for Carlos Arruza tomorrow. It’ll
be a madhouse on Sunday, everyone racing to get over there, and then they’ll
be in a hurry to get back…We always have problems on a day like that.”
“You working tomorrow?”
“Sure am.”
“Hope Arruza gives his usual performance.”
George smiled.
“I’m sure he will. By the way, do you go to the
bullfights, John?”
“Not very often. Here in Juarez they seem like a “turista”
thing. I’d rather not be identified with them. Tomorrow might be worth
the effort, though.” He paused, smiling. “Especially since I won’t
have to ‘rush back’!”
George laughed.
“You sure do have an advantage there, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, some times. Especially when one of your
buddies asks me for proof as an American citizen.”
“Most of the time you don’t have to go through
that, do you?”
“Only once in a great while.”
“We have a few new people now…By the way, how’s
it going at the college?”
Unable to continue his education beyond high school, George
was both mildly envious and very proud of his long-time friend’s accomplishments
on a higher level.
John pondered a reply.
“It’s all right. Still not awfully sure what I’m
going to do with it when I finish.”
“Mining engineering, right? Texas Western is a great
school for that. Started out as the School of Mines back in the 1910’s,
way ahead of other colleges in the state.”
“I know that, but I have my doubts about poking around
in mines. Tend to get claustrophobic underground. Could pose a real problem!”
George patted him on the arm, laughing again.
“Sounds like you might just end up in the wrong business
when you graduate!”
“Yeah, I know. Still not too late to change my major,
but it might disappoint my mother.”
“By the way, how is your madre? Haven’t
seen too much of her lately. She used to come to El Paso quite often to do her
shopping.”
“The car is back in the garage for repairs again. And
she doesn’t like to ride the trolley.”
“That car spends a lot of time in the garage, doesn’t
it? You sure it isn’t ‘el mecanico’ doing the repairs?”
“I don’t think so. Emilio is one of the best. We’ve
known him for years. Even have him over for dinner from time to time.”
“That says a lot. ‘Mi casa es su casa’,
right?”
“For sure. ‘My house is your home’
isn’t considered a light invitation in Juarez.” John paused again.
“You have to be very careful who you invite into your home. But you know
that already…Right, George?”
“You know it! Boy, do I love those Mexican dinners your
mother cooks. Have to exercise for days to get my weight back to ‘normal’!”
“What! You have a weight problem, George? Never would
have guessed it!”
Laughter on both sides - The other officers joined in. Matsas’
heft was a constant problem…
“Well, George, have to get going.”
It was unlike John to be in a hurry. George eyed him warily.
“What’s the rush?”
“Nosey, aren’t you?” came John’s defensive
reply.
“Why not? What are real friends for, anyway?”
Another pause.
“O.K. I guess I can tell you, if you really have to know.
I met a student at the college and she agreed to have dinner with me at the
‘Eagle Café’. I’m already late.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Not yet. I’d rather you didn’t say anything
to her. You know how touchy mothers are…”
“My lips are sealed! Fortunately, I don’t have
that problem…yet!”
George grinned. “I really understand your preoccupation,
however.”
“You’d better stop using those three-syllable words,
George. People will become suspicious - Besides, it might become habit-forming!”
“Funny you should mention it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’ve been dabbling in a little writing lately.
Helps take my mind off work and it gives me an opportunity to pour out my feelings
on paper, even if most of it isn’t very good…”
“As long as you don’t ‘pour’ too much.”
“Why?”
“You might get ‘wet’!”
“Knock it off, John!”
“Talk on, George…” their favorite expression
for continuing the conversation.
“O.K. Even if it never gets published, I have the satisfaction
of having written it…”
“A novel?”
“No. Mostly short stories. A lot of interesting things
happen here on the ‘bridge’. Lends itself to the grist mill, don’t
you think?”
“Depends. I remember you were always good in English
class. Might be worth a try. Keep it up and I might have to ask for your autograph!”
