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Monster Machines
- University of Texas Press
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~ 133 ~ box on metal marked the crossing of each one. Each thought himself lucky to beat the green immigration van and be on his way, swinging the lunch box and whistling a tune. Other times the green van came silently, without lights, and the workers all scattered like cockroaches in the sudden flood of a spotlight. Often they made it across with their clothes in shreds from the ordeal. We could see them from our front window. Amá would rush out and offer the bushes of the backyard as a hiding place. She’d make it back to the house just in time to collect herself before the “seeker” patrols with their flashlights asked if she had witnessed the direction the “hiders” had taken. After they were gone, she would steer the fugitives in the opposite direction. The noises from outside would wake us, along with the irritation to our noses from burning chorizo. Sometimes I would awaken to the smell of damp earth and find that Amá had watered the garden. This would tempt my appetite for a bit of terrón de tierra (a lump of clay). Sometimes we children would wake up and warn Amá that she was breaking the law by helping these fugitives. “Amá, you can get yourself in trouble with the law.” Her answer was always “That’s all right, my daughters, these people get hungry, too.” Monster Machines ~ Amá didn’t know how to read, but she vividly remembered many tales her grandfather had told her. Grandfather told her that ~ 134 ~ one day there would be machines that could fly like birds in the sky. Just like Abuelito told her about the airplanes, she told us about the “monster machines.” Amá told us, “One day the monster machine will come and take away our jobs, so why worry about a few men who crawl through the fence?” We all thought she was making up stories to frighten us and make us work harder. She often told us scary tales so that we would listen to her. “If you do not obey me, I will ask your grandmother’s soul to come pull on your toes while you sleep!” She wasn’t wrong about the monster machine. Soon we saw a huge cotton picker roll into the fields to replace the lifelong jobs of so many people. Sure enough, as she predicted, on a humid, predawn morning, Amá, my three sisters, and I arrived in the fields with our crumpled lunch bags in our hands, praying to be among those called to work. However, only a few other workers were chosen. Amá mourned that day as we walked back to the truck. We knew the struggles of our people against poverty would soon be multiplied. As the trucks packed the workers back to town, Amá cried. My sister Mary tried to assure her that it wasn’t the end. But even Mary knew that the ones not chosen faced a tomorrow that promised less than what they had yesterday. Still, she pointed out what a hard worker Amá was and how any foreman would be glad to have her working for him. Amá answered , “Yes, right now, but what will become of us who are getting older and can’t read or write?” To us girls, losing our jobs to the cotton machines meant not having money to buy material for new dresses. On the other hand, it also meant we were less likely to be caught with our working clothes plastered in mud from head to toe. We were always embarrassed to be seen by our friends from school because then they would know we worked in the fields.When we got off the truck and had to cross to the stores, we hid ourselves with scarves exposing only our eyes. We were only [3.90.35.86] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 12:16 GMT) ~ 135 ~ fooling ourselves, however, as the whole town knew we were field workers. For Amá, losing our jobs meant watching us open an empty icebox, the landlord knocking at the door asking for the rent, no money for the bill that sat on the table saying “Final Notice” before the electricity would be shut off. These events in Amá’s life occurred during the 1960s.This was a time of enormous change in society and visionary leaders like John and Robert Kennedy. Amá didn’t know much about politics, but the fact that the Kennedys were Catholics...