Struggling for Survival

Jose Rodriquez happily slathered the hot tar on the wide expanse of roof.  The unclouded sun blazed and heat waves shimmered up from the strip center’s top surface.  In the oven-like atmosphere, perspiration poured down his body, but he didn’t care.  He glanced around at the other five members of the crew.  They were laboring with an enthusiasm equal to his own.  There should be a good two days work here, he thought, maybe even three. 

It was good to be working.  It was good to know that when he received his day’s wages, he’d be able to restock the larder and his family could eat for a few more days.  Maybe Angelina would make flan.  He would be sure to pick up plenty of milk and eggs in addition to the ground meat and tortillas he’d planned on buying.  Los ninos would love the treat. 

The hours passed swiftly and almost before Jose noticed, the sun was sinking toward the horizon.  The foreman stood up from where he had been leaning against an air-conditioner unit.

“Es bastante,” he said.  “Time to call it a day, hombres.”

Jose carefully wrapped the head of his long-handled brush in heavy plastic and put the lid on his bucket of tar.  While he stood waiting for the other men to finish, he grinned appreciatively at the sunset.  The clouds radiated brilliant hues of gold, orange, red and purple.  It is a beautiful day, he thought, as he picked up his equipment and climbed down the ladder.  He slid the bucket and brush into the bed of the foreman’s pickup and clambered in beside them.

The foreman unlocked the passenger’s door, unlocked the glove compartment and withdrew a small metal box.  He counted out bills for each man and slid them into small brown envelopes.  When he had finished, he relocked the box, replaced it and slammed the door.  Walking around the bed of the pickup, he handed an envelope to each of them and then climbed behind the wheel.

Jose gazed at the storefronts as they drove across the parking lot.  He noted a small food market, a beauty shop, a nail salon and a restaurant among the many tenants of the long, low building.  A short time later, the pickup pulled to the curb where they had been picked up that morning.

“Hasta manana, hombres,” called the foreman as he pulled away.

Jose stopped by a neighborhood market on his way to the tiny, ramshackle house he and his family called home.  As he pushed through the door, the kids surrounded him with welcoming shouts.  Angelina came from the kitchen, the baby suckling her breast.  When she spied the bags of groceries in his hands, her eyes brightened and a wide smile lighted her face.

“You found work!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he answered, his grin matching her own.  “I go back tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m so glad.”  She passed him the baby and took the bags into the kitchen.  Jose listened happily to the jaunty song that she sang as she began preparing their evening meal.

Soon the spicy smells of their native land wafted from the kitchen and drifted through the house.  Jose’s stomach rumbled in response.  He had eaten nothing since the fried tortillas he’d had for breakfast.  He smiled.  Tomorrow he’d be able to have his tortillas stuffed with eggs and dripping salsa.  The very thought made his mouth water. 

When they had eaten their fill of the feast Angelina laid before them, Jose leaned back in his chair and gazed around the table at all the smiling faces.  What more could a man want than to be surrounded by a happy family with full stomachs? 

While Angelina cleared the table, Jose rose and took a battered mandolin from its hook on the wall.  He stood, caressing the old wood.  He remembered, as a child, clapping his hands to the music his father played with his friends.  His padre had given him the ancient instrument as ‘a bit of home’ when he and Angelina had decided to seek a better life north of the border.  Smiling, he tuned the strings and began to pick out a melody from days long past. 

Angelina sang along, while the children danced around the room.  Jose’s grin widened.  Yes, indeed, this was the good life.  He played on and on, singing with Angelina every song he knew.  The younger children began to get droopy-eyed and Jose rose and hung the mandolin back on the wall. 

While Angelina put the young ones to bed, Jose went to the kitchen cabinet and took down an old chipped teapot.  Removing the envelope from his pocket he slipped a couple of ones back into his pocket, rolled up the rest and tucked them inside, replacing the lid.  He’d have to put aside all that he could.  When this job was finished, finding another one right away wasn’t a sure thing.  There were too many other men out there looking.

The next morning, Jose walked to the pick-up point and waited with the others for the foreman’s pickup truck.  When it pulled in they hopped into the back, eager to begin the day’s work.

When they were given their noon break, Jose climbed down from the roof and went into the food market feeling like a rich man.  He shivered in the chilly, air-conditioned air.  Slowly, he walked around the store.  He lingered in front of the refrigerated case containing grilled chicken breasts and sandwiches of several varieties, fingering the bills in his pocket.  With a sigh, he moved on to the drink area and plucked a soda from the cooler.  Moving on to the cashier’s counter, he picked up a package of cheese crackers and paid his bill.

Wandering back outside, he hunkered down in the shade of the building and popped the top of his drink.  Munching his crackers and sipping his drink, he watched the stream of people who entered the store and came back out, their arms loaded with bags of goods.

Before long, it was back up the ladder to finish the day’s work.  By the afternoon of the third day, the job was finished and the crew was returned to the pick-up site.

Early the next morning, Jose walked to the corner that was the neighborhood's only pick-up point.  By ones, twos and threes, others joined him in the waiting.  Anxiously, they watched every vehicle that came down the street.  Would this be the one containing their pay for a day’s labor?  The morning rush came and passed; still they waited, hoping. 

At mid-morning, a car pulled into the curb.  The driver leaned across and pointed to two of the younger, more muscular fellows.  Happily, the two chosen ones hopped into the back seat.  The remainder continued the vigil.  Jose was thirsty, but he dare not leave his post.  The sun reached its zenith and slid slowly toward the west.  As the afternoon dwindled, Jose turned toward home.  Maybe tomorrow would be a better day.

Jose walked into the little house and Angelina met him at the door.  She raised a questioning eyebrow.  He shook his head and the disappointment was clear upon her face.

Day after day the scenario was repeated.  Each morning Jose walked to his post, hopeful that today would be the day he would find work; each evening he trudged back home.  Every day the group of men on the corner grew, from a half-dozen, to eight, to a dozen.  Every day more and more appeared.  The vehicles that stopped at the curb became fewer and fewer. 

The teapot was empty.  Each day their small store of food dwindled.  There was no milk for the children and little food for any of them.  Angelina’s milk supply dried up and the baby seemed to be constantly crying. Angelina filled bottles with sugar water, but the aid was only temporary.  Jose’s hope was slowly replaced with hopelessness and despair.  It was a man’s duty to provide for his family and he was failing miserably.  What could he do?

Standing in the blazing sun, Jose’s mind wandered back to the market in the strip center.  What a bounty of food they had there.  He fantasized going into the store and buying bushels of food.  But that would take money and he had none.  Without work there was no money.  If only he could get work.

Jose’s desperation grew and a plan began to formulate in his mind.  His memory of the vents on the roof was clear.  He remembered that there was one directly over the market.  If he could lower himself into that vent, he could kick out the lower cover and drop into the store.  He would probably set off a burglar alarm when he made his escape, but it was a chance he had to take.  He pictured Angelina’s happiness when he came home with his arms loaded with groceries. 

But he didn’t dare tell her of his plan.  She would try to stop him, but as far as he could see there was nothing else left to do.  There were too many men without work and too few jobs.  Desperate men had to take desperate measures.

That night he waited nervously for Angelina to come to bed and go to sleep.  Finally, she climbed in beside him.  He lay, with eyes closed, feigning sleep.  He listened to her breathing.  When he was sure she was asleep, he carefully slipped out of bed and carried his clothes into the other room.  After he was dressed, he slipped a large screwdriver into his pocket and crept out of the house.  Swiftly he walked the few blocks to the strip center.

Keeping to the shadows, Jose made his way to the rear of the building.  With the aid of a drainpipe and thanks to the occasional crevices, he was able to scale the wall onto the roof.  Carefully, he looked around to get his bearings and determine which vent led to the market.  Having made up his mind, he knelt beside the cover and began working with his screwdriver.  Soon he pulled off the heavy metal screen and moved it to the side.

Slowly, he lowered his body, feet first, over the edge and into the duct.  Bracing himself with his hands and knees against the sides, he wormed his way along the dark passage.  Feeling his feet reach a bend, he was sure that he was near his destination.  Gingerly, he eased his body downward, until he felt his feet against the inside grate.  A firm kick, followed by another, and the cover broke loose. 

Suddenly Jose was sliding down the duct.  When the rapid descent stopped, his legs and lower body had cleared the elbow, but his upper torso had become wedged in the bend.  Writhe and wiggle as he might, he couldn’t move either downward or back the way he had come. 

He gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain in his chest.  It felt as if his lungs were about to explode.  The dark tunnel of the duct looked like a swirling, star-spangled sky of his native land.  Angelina’s face swam before his staring eyes.  Aye, Dios! He thought, mi angelita.  Adios,

In the morning, the manager of the Family Food Mart turned his key in the lock on the front door and pushed his way into the store.  He went behind the counter to open the safe and set up the cash register for the day’s business.  When that was accomplished, he began a tour of the shelves to see what needed to be restocked.

He was stunned to find a pair of feet and legs dangling from the overhead vent.  “Oh, my God,” he exclaimed, rushing for the phone.  Soon, the police arrived with an emergency crew and they began the task of removing Jose from his prison. 

Carefully, they lifted and worked until he slipped free and was gently lowered to the floor.  An EMT checked for a pulse and slowly shook his head. 

“See how blue his lips are?” he asked his teammate.  “Looks like asphyxiation to me, but the coroner will have to say for sure.”

A pair of policemen came through the outer door.  One of them stopped by the body.

“Gone?”

The EMT nodded.

“Found this on the roof,” the cop said, holding up Jose’s screwdriver.  He pried open the vent cover.  Guess the intent was burglary, but now we’ll never know.”