The harsh lines of her brow openly told the story of her lifelong struggle for survival. Even when she smiled the frown lingered, giving the appearance of a sinister scowl. The permenant crevices of her forehead made her look far beyond her meager 38 years. Her name was Juana, a common Mexican name which means God is gracious. This was ironic becuase her life had been an uphill battle since she was a small child growing up in the state of Zacatecas, Mexico. It seemed that God had been anything but gracious to her. Still she stood strong in her faith, evident by the small fourteen karat gold amulet of the Virgin de Guadalupe whcih she wore around her neck everyday. Her papa gave her the trinket when she was just a small child. Each day he would return from the mines, which were the main industry of her home state. Smudges of soot and lead decorated his leathery round face. Only his big brown eyes shown through. All knowing eyes. Eyes that could coax the truth out of a little girl when she lied about completing all of her chores. Her mama filled her days cooking, cleaning and taking care of Juana and here five sisters and brothers. She was a kind and generous mother, but stern when it came to disciplining Juana and her siblings.
Juana had arrived at almost 9:30 PM that night, but she got to work cleaning the kitchen immediately. White bubbles sploshed and splashed as she washed the dishes in the sink. She brushed the mangled curls from her face using the back of her wrist and forearm to avoid getting her forehead wet. A few straggles of hairs stood out from her pronounced gray streak that ran from the right side of her forehead all the way down to the bottom of her shoulder length locks.
Sitting there silently observing from across the room, I noticed that she rarely looked up from her intense scrubbing. Ocassionally she would break her concentrated cleaning to make sure that her daughter Tita was not getting into any trouble. I looked at Tita, a beautiful, curly headed little girl of about 7 years old. Her full name was Patricia, but Tita seemed to suit her childish features much better. As I watched the little girl, I wondered why she was so shy and afraid to speak to others. Had something happened to her to make her so withdrawn. Was she intimidated by adults, or perhaps she was just taught not to speak unless directly addressed. The entire house went to bed sometime around 11:30 that night. Only then did Juana stop cleaning and retire to the couch where she and her daughter would sleep.
The next morning when I woke up at 7:00, Juana was already up getting prepared to begin her work cleaning and packing boxes for the move. She was used to this type of work. Juana normally took care of Mr. Johnson, an elderly gentleman in San Antonio, TX. His health had deteriorated over the years and he was recently moved to a hospice. The Johnson family was cruel and abusive to Juana, but she needed the steady work. She had always done odd jobs, mainly housekeeping, after hours and on weekends when she was not taking care of the old man. Now, without the steady income of the Johnson job, her search for side jobs became her full-time occupation.
By mid morning the entire house was working feverishly. The women packed the boxes and cleaned while the men loaded furntiture and other items into the rented moving truck. It was hot and muggy outside. Visible waves of heat rose from the pavement like fire rising from a hot grill. We were literally cooking in the texas heat. By late afternoon we broke for lunch. The whole party sat around the table and unwrapped the hamburgers and french fries that my wife had brought back from the local fast food restaurant. Just as she had done with breakfast, Juana took both her and Tita’s plates and sat out on the front porch to eat. This struck me as odd. There was plenty of room for the two of them at the table. While I knew she smoked, I wondered why she insisted on eating on the porch. Had Mr. Johnson and his family insisted that she not eat in their presence? Was this an explanation of why Tita was so timid.
Shouts of joy and laughter echoed from the front porch. It was Tita. While in the sole presence of her mother, she let her gaurd down. Only in those moments, she was free to be a child. Free to laugh and play. Upon coming back inside the little girl immediately became silent again, taking care to stay out of the way of the adults and our labor.
Juana ate quickly and began working again before the rest of us had even finished our lunch. She outpaced everyone. While the some of us stopped to catch our breaths, she worked on. She was so intense. For Juana, there was no time to catch her breath. No time for idle chatter nor cute jokes. It was obvious to me then that this behavior was ingrained within her. Behavior learned at an early age and reinforced throught her turbulent life. But through it all she seemed happy. Contented. She never complained, or whined about being tired. She never complained about the lack of respect shown to her by her employers. She just worked hard. It was all she knew how to do. Perhaps it was that amulet she wore around her neck. Maybe the Virgin was the source of her silent strength.