Family Honor: A Novel

By Miguel O. Villegas

It is difficult to understand a culture where marriages arranged by fathers and a woman's desire to choose her own husband is viewed as a gross act of defiance that damages the honor of the men who negotiated the agreement. It is even more astonishing if the woman is educated, independent, and beautiful. But this is Ciudad Jurez, Chihuahua, Mxico in 1947. The destined marital union in this story precariously has to contend with learning how to love the other with the expectation that it will evolve into a firm lifelong relationship while struggling with where their hearts truly lie.

Family Honor is the story of Marta Ortega a twenty four year old executive secretary working in the City Hall offices of Ciudad Jurez, Mexico. She is forced into an arranged marriage or opt to elope for love. Her betrothed, a Big Band musician, is from a highly respected and wealthy family who if she marries would bring honor in the conjoining of two great families. However, her love is Eugenio Ramirez the citys young Chief of Police who is challenged with fighting organized crime and a futile drug war where he is law enforcer, judge, jury and self-appointed executioner of these malcontents.

Based on a true life story and due to the nature of some of the events, liberties have been taken for effect. Real names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463445577

Miguel O. Villegas

Miguel (Mike) O. Villegas was born in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and raised in the San Gabriel Valley of Southern California. An avid reader, he began writing fiction in his forties at the behest of his family. He has over 30 years experience as an information security professional and Big 4 partner. He lives in Pasadena, CA with his daughter Selena.

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Contents

Prologue

PART I

The Agreement

El Grito

El Helios

Valdez Family Visit

La Panadería Rosa

Pablo and María

Marta

Miguel

Salamayuca

Dining with Señor Ramírez

Rumors

Gloria

The Letter

Drug Wars

The Promise

The Preparation

PART II

Ceremonia Civil

Catholic Wedding

The Announcement

The Wedding

The Honeymoon

The Consummation

Dr. Villa

Expecting

Accident

California

Catching Up with Gloria

The Diary

Madre

Epilogue

Todo lo puedo en Cristo que me fortalece.

Filipenses 4:13

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

Philippians 4:13

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In Memory of Our Mother

Prologue

The conjoining of the Ortega and Valdez families was inevitable. Their families were prominent, affluent, venerated, and even feared by some. Having Señorita Marta Ortega and Señor Miguel Valdez marry made all the sense in the world, except to the bride.

Marriage is a sacred union between a man and a woman—a mutual lifelong commitment of love, care, support, and faithfulness. This characterization may vary somewhat around the world but is undoubtedly the most widely accepted. It describes two people in love wrestling every second separated anticipating every stolen moment to gaze into each other’s eyes, to feel each other’s touch, to sink into each other’s caressing embraces, to surrender to each other’s passionate never-ending moments. For many, that’s their destiny. That’s their choice.

Conversely, it is difficult to understand a culture where marriages are arranged by fathers and a woman’s desire to choose her own husband is viewed as a gross act of defiance that damages the honor of the men who negotiated the agreement. It is even more astonishing if the woman is educated, independent, and beautiful. But this is Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, México in 1947. The destined marital union in this story precariously has to contend with learning how to love the other with the expectation that it will evolve into a firm lifelong relationship while struggling with where their hearts truly lie.

This is Marta’s story.

PART I

The Agreement

As the front doors opened, a loud belch of thunder followed Pablo into El Helios Night Club, a popular night spot for young swingers anxious for big band music. With the club entrance lights reflecting through the pouring rain as a backdrop, his dark silhouette figure made him look larger than life. Waiting to adjust his vision to the dark cavernous ballroom, he was amused at those who quickly turned to see the source of the deafening thunder as if he was responsible for the roaring noise. It was still early. Those present were busy getting the club ready before the crowds arrived. He shook off the rain drops from his black umbrella, folded it, and hung the brown handle on his left arm. With a wet circle building under him, he gently removed his Douglas fedora slightly bowing making sure not to disturb his well-groomed hair slicked back. He shivered slightly as a few droplets rolled down his neck. He then shook off the rain from his hat as if it were dust ridden and placed it under his arm. Outside, the rain drops hit the club’s front sidewalk that sounded like marbles bouncing off concrete.

Pulling a white handkerchief from his inside coat pocket, he removed his water speckled wire rim glasses and cleaned them as he squinted slightly trying to make out who else was there. He put them back on slowly as if he were on stage performing for everyone to see his every move. He left his sodden overcoat on and stood astride a few more seconds in front of the now closed doors seemingly in wait for an invitation to enter.

Ambient lights surrounding the ballroom and white and blue bar backlights reflecting off the mirrors became clearer now. Pablo saw Pedro, his best friend since youth, removing his sax from its case laying on the stage where, in a few hours, Los Reyes would be playing in front of a sea of dancing maniacs. Saturday night at El Helios was assured of a full house of couples, patrons, ladies and men overflowing with excitement. Pedro knew that once the doors opened, the masses would walk in briskly to find a favorable table not already reserved to sit fully expecting to have a great time of dancing, drinking, laughter, and enjoyment.

He always arrived three to four hours prior to the other band members to ensure everything was in place for each night’s performance. His mantra was no surprises and no delays and everyone in the band made sure not to disappoint him. He glanced over his shoulder, motioning Pablo towards him while squinting a half closed eye to protect against the smoke emanating from his Monte Carlo held mysteriously between his lips. Outside, the pouring rain continued to fall.

Although now a bit humid, Pablo was grateful for the respite from the hot summer dry heat of Ciudad Juárez. As he started to walk towards Pedro, he wondered if the seasonal August rain would keep many patrons away but then this was a Saturday night. It was seven in the evening. In a good two or three hours, El Helios would again become electric, loud, smoke filled, and at capacity.

"Hola, Pedro! shouted Pablo walking steadily down to the stage. He then turned slightly and nodded towards the night club owner with greetings, Don Ramón, buenas noches (good evening)."

"Buenas noches, Don Pablo. I don’t think the rain will keep people away tonight. Buena suerte (Good luck.)," Don Ramón replied as he returned to talk to his bartender. Both men smiled.

As Pablo drew closer, he glanced around and recalled why he was a musician. He saw waiters and busboys placing clean white table cloths and table trimmings, waitresses straightening their short skirts and aprons, handymen replacing non-functioning light bulbs in the perimeter, bartenders cleaning counters and shelving freshly cleaned glasses, while Pedro and a couple other band members were taking out their instruments. Everyone was focused on the preparation for that evening and although no one else was allowed entrance, he glanced over to the right and noticed three persistent young men waiting anxiously for at least one to be called for any work the club manager saw fit to offer them. It was the usual three—Lorenzo, David, and Roberto. Everyone knew these three and even allowed them to stay into the evening if to serve the masses required additional assistance. Just then, Roberto ran down towards the bar before the other two had noticed the quick nod from Don Ramón.

Pablo smiled at Roberto’s initiative knowing full well that to get ahead in life one many times had to be the first one to jump at an opportunity. Nothing is given. It is earned, bartered, or stolen, preferably the former but such is life. The smell of cleaning liquids mingled with countless nights of saturated cigarette smoke. All this was a precursor to the excitement of the club’s explosion in a few hours. He played for money and it had proven to be a good livelihood but he also played for the rush of being the source of people’s escape even but for a few hours. He loved it. He was in control of a mass of people’s reaction to his music. The results were intoxicating. The faster the music, the faster the dancers competed in their absurd, unbelievable movements and female bodies flying in the air. Of course, the ubiquitous young beauties, who when younger he would on occasion partake of, were certainly another side benefit. But, he honestly could not see himself being anything other than a musician.

How is your family? Pablo asked his best friend.

Since you asked me yesterday, Pedro smiled, they are all doing well. Thank you, Pablo. I trust your family is also.

They both chuckled at the everyday but necessary greeting ritual since it provided assurance of a good start for the evening. Although friends for many years, as they grew older, the manner in which they addressed each other became more formal and with respect. Not that they did not respect each other before but they both agreed, for the sake of the band and their families, they had to set an example. They did not really understand how it happened. It just seemed to have evolved. Maybe as they acquired wealth their positions required it. God knows their drinking binges and young men’s indiscretions made them more than mere acquaintances. They literally were best friends that grew up together. Mistakes abounded and on more than one occasion each had rescued the other from precarious and occasional dangerous situations which at times involved ladies and some not-so-ladies. These adventures were not forgotten but they were also not discussed and certainly not openly for others to hear.

Still wearing his drenched dark brown wool overcoat, and with a slight nod in the direction of the front entrance, Pablo said, Somebody left the water running. Both men grinned slightly as Pedro continued unpacking. Arriving at the stage area, Pablo’s countenance then changed suddenly and demurely said, Pedro… I need to speak with you about an important matter. It won’t take long but I am compelled to bring it up now rather than later. Pablo was known for having a sense of humor but when serious, Pedro knew to stop what he was doing and give him his full attention. He turned around to face him with slight trepidation wondering what his friend was about to say.

"You sound so serious, hombre (man). This must be important. Please, sit down. Dime amigo (Tell me my friend). What’s on your mind?" Pedro pulled up a couple of musician folding chairs and motioned with an open palm for Pablo to sit.

Pablo fidgeted a bit and replied almost apologetically, No, thank you, Pedro. I would rather stand. I feel more comfortable standing. Holding his fedora with his left hand, he grabbed the umbrella still hung on his left arm, tapped the metal ferrule tip on the hardwood dance floor, rested his right hand on the handle, and paused to figure out what do to next. With overcoat unbuttoned, one could see him wearing as always his perfectly creased black pants, white jacket and a white shirt underneath. He then transferred the umbrella back to his left arm, hung his right arm straight down and started doing that finger movement that usually indicated he was deep in thought.

People handle difficult situations in a variety of ways; they count backwards from ten to zero; they resort to alcohol or drugs; they take on a routine that allows the nerves to calm and mind to be at ease. Pablo prided himself in being in control of situations and his emotions. He had no problems making hard decisions because he was in control. But when it came to those that actually knew him, such as Pedro or his wife María, it was difficult at times to stay calm, easily becoming confused or panicky, which then resulted in anger in order to hide his true feelings. He understood his weakness so rather than make a difficult situation worse, he determined to remain unruffled. Pablo had a peculiar finger movement, which was more of an unconscious nervous reaction, that helped him relax when pensive. The movement was to successively and rapidly touch the sides of his thumb and index fingers together, then index to middle finger, middle finger to ring finger, ring finger to pinky, and reverse the sequence back to the thumb. There were occasions he would repeat this movement for long periods at a time until something or someone would bring it to his attention. Pedro called it the Pablo shuffle and it caught on where even his family members referred to it as the same.

Noticing Pablo’s preoccupation, without disrupting him, Pedro sat down on one of the chairs, looking at him as a psychiatrist would beginning a session with a patient on the proverbial couch.

Pedro was a fair skinned man, with a large forehead, hair combed slick back and a thin mustache that lined his upper lip with each side conspicuously ending at the base of his nose. It looked almost drawn. He was wearing the band’s outfit for the evening—a white cotton blend shirt with a winged-tip collar, black satin bow tie and cummerbund, black suspenders, black pants, and black patent leather shoes. His white three button notch jacket with a framed satin inset collar hung over the back of one of the folding chairs beside him. Taking a deep puff of his Monte Carlo cigarette, he crossed his legs knee over knee, and with a left arm outstretched on his knee and right hand holding his cigarette, he leaned forward slightly to focus on his friend.

He studied Pablo’s face and said, "You are starting to scare me, hombre. Wiggling his left hand fingers open palmed in front of his face, he said, You’re doing that Pablo shuffle so this must really be serious. Please, go on."

Embarrassed, Pablo vigorously shook his right hand as if to wake it from a deep sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was fumble and that was precisely what he was doing. He was not afraid of what he was about to ask. He was more concerned that if the question was not delivered correctly, it might alter their friendship. But was that realistic? There wasn’t much they did not know about each other. Certainly he could ask his best friend anything. If he asked and Pedro would turn him down, would his presumptuousness be offensive? Maybe he would feel obligated to say yes because of their friendship even if it was against his better judgment. He didn’t want either but with over twenty five years of camaraderie, how hard can this be? Besides, isn’t it said that friends are sometimes closer than even a brother? Considering his intentions, certainly it was worth the risk.

Shifting from one leg to another, Pablo continued. "Pedro, I don’t know any other way to ask you this except to speak from my heart and come right out and say it. You and I have been friends for many years. We have similar beginnings. You come from a grand family and like me you had to start from the ground floor. We both have played our music in el mercado (the market) for centavos (pennies). We did it for money and more importantly for the love of music. We have played together in several bands and now your brothers and my brother join us in Los Reyes. Our families have bonded in friendship, sweat, suffering, and now success and affluence." He paused to see if Pedro wanted to interject.

Pedro’s eyes did not waiver from Pablo. With a serious concerned look on his face he wondered where he was going with this. He dared not interrupt but what could he be asking? Why the buildup? He hadn’t said anything Pedro disagreed with or did not already know. Does he want to go into a major business venture together? Maybe he is in a bind and is going to ask for some financial assistance, which he would gladly lend it even without an explanation.

You have killed anyone… have you? As absurd as that question was, given Pablo’s awkwardness, anything was possible.

What? No. No. It’s nothing like that.

Well, whatever it is, there is nothing you and I can’t figure out. Please continue, Pedro said tight lipped with an affirming nod.

Pleased with his reaction, he straightened up and with his chest slightly elevated, Pablo continued now with a concerned but proud voice, Pedro… I know I have to speak with your father but I come to you first. It… I mean… I would consider it a great honor… if you would permit your youngest brother, Miguel… to marry my daughter, Marta. Relieved, he took a deep breath, exhaled and then said, There—I said it.

Waiting for a reaction, what he did not expect was for Pedro to promptly rise out of his chair. As thunder roared in the background, Pedro swiftly walked over to the startled Pablo and without hesitation put his arms around his friend. Pablo with a confused look raised his arms outward not knowing whether to push Pedro off or hug him.

Disregarding the wetness seeping through Pablo’s drenched overcoat, Pedro held him and cried out. "Is that what you wanted to ask me? You made me worry with that sorrowful look you gave me, ¡caramba hombre! (dammit man!) Grabbing him from both shoulders, he continued, Listen, Pablo. You actually beat me to it, compa (short for compadre). Both men smiling and staring into each other’s face, Pedro remarked, Why just last week, my brothers and parents, had all agreed to formally visit you and Doña María for that very reason. The honor is ours, Pablo. ¡Qué barbaridad! (How wonderful!). Miguel and Marta will make a perfect couple. They have known each other since they were children and have been dating for quite some time now. I know Miguel has had an eye for her since he joined our band at the age of sixteen. He will be turning twenty this month. The timing is right. They are smart, beautiful, respected, and well groomed for their station in life."

I know. I am so glad you agree, said Pablo with a sigh of relief

My parents will be delighted, believe me. When did you and María decide?

Hesitating slightly, Pablo replied, Oh… yes. Well…

Doña María does know, right? Pausing, he then asked, You haven’t talked to her about it? Pedro was a bit surprised.

Well… no. But I haven’t because I really wanted to talk to you first before I got everyone excited. Don’t worry about María though. She will agree this marriage to be the best for both.

Still a bit puzzled, Pedro commented, "I heard she was dating Ramírez."

Don’t give that any mind. Marta is a beautiful woman and she is approached by brave young suitors all the time. This will not be a problem, replied Pablo.

Satisfied with the answer Pedro said, "Bueno (Good). Well, it’s August now. We can plan for a December wedding! What do you think? Besides, our families were destined to be joined as one and it’s finally here."

"Yes. That seems like plenty of time to plan for a wedding, ¿qué no? (right?)" Pablo knew that it would probably take more time to plan for a wedding than both of them could fathom but this was not the time to discuss it. They would leave the details to those that know how. The important thing was that Pedro agreed to the marriage.

Like everything else we’ve done together, my friend, we will just make it happen! said Pedro. Embracing as two brothers, they laughed heartily as they drew the attention of the few more that had arrived early.

Pedro then looked at Pablo with a satisfied smile as he put his arm around his friend directing him back to the stage area. "Come, mi amigo (my friend). We have to play tonight but we also have a reason to rejoice. Miguelito will arrive shortly and we can celebrate after. For now, let’s prepare for our performance this evening."

Trying to remain calm, inwardly Pablo was elated and proud. With umbrella and hat in hand, he removed his overcoat as he walked over to the full drum set at the back left of the stage. He reminisced of how he had worked so hard to take care of his family and provide them the best he could afford. Humbly he smiled and thought of how God had blessed him but with an even greater blessing of having his daughter marry his best friend’s son.

Another great evening at El Helios but this night was especially significant for the Valdez and Ortega families.

Invariably, life presents opportunities that in our own self-interests, we believe to be true, just, and right. Our perceived justification at times turns these opportunities myopic, self-serving and insensitive to the aftereffects of our decisions. Pedro and Pablo did not see any wrong in the agreement. It’s done all the time they reasoned in their minds; this union would bring both families integrity, friendship, and honor; it did not even enter in their manner of thinking that anyone would object to such a union. Their heartfelt purpose was what was best for all. They loved their children; they were sincere but, retrospectively in the years to come, they would concede they were sincerely wrong.

El Grito

Every step was deliberate and firm at a moderate andante pace. Walking towards her workstation, the slight swish of her skirt, birds chirping outside, car traffic noise beginning to rise, and people chatter increasing, were all feeble attempts to drown the sound of her three-inch heal round toed shoes echoing across the marble floors. She walked with a slight swagger, yet graceful, her back straight, looking forward, not too seductive, but enough to make it difficult for any male admirer to resist a gawkish stare. Her natural black hair was in a neat middy cut with half waves on the sides and fully fluffed in the back. Her posture, her feminine sway, her look of resolve as she neared her desk drew the attention and admiration of those graced to see her. She definitely was a sight to behold and she knew it. Never fully accustomed to cat calls directed towards her while walking on the dusty downtown streets of Ciudad Juárez and like so many other young ladies, she ignored them. She could have easily been offended but instead, took a more mature approach and considered those failed attention getters as minor, inconsequential, and meaningless. She dealt with such infringements on her personal space by just continuing to walk. She learned early on that to react positively or negatively gave the caller the satisfaction of a response. Work was much more controlled and respectful but she was not any less admired.

She wore a tasteful light grey fitted jacket with shoulder pads, black velvet lined, lightly embroidered conservative white blouse, and a matching knee length skirt and belt that accentuated her figure. Her face was oval, eyes slightly slanted and highlighted with just the right amount of mascara. Her skin was flawless and her face was punctuated with a natural black beauty mark on the edge of her upper right lip. With a small shoulder strap purse, newspaper under her arm, and a cup of lightly creamed coffee, Marta Álvarez Ortega, twenty-four, single, poised, wearing just the right amount of eau de perfume to generate a delightful pause, chic, and elegantly beautiful, arrived at her desk at the customary 7:45 a.m. on the second floor of the Palacio Municipal (City Hall). She provided executive secretarial services to three city officials from the Departamento del Trabajo y Recursos Humanos (Department of Labor and Human Resources). This included typing, transcription, and dictation services in Gregg shorthand.

She laid the newspaper, El Fronterizo, dated Friday, September 12, 1947, gently perpendicular to the outer edge of her desk and placed her purse on top. Standing with cup in hand overlooking her desk, she noticed that the night before, the cleaning people had yet again forgotten to remove the coffee cup rings off her desktop and cigarette ash residue from visitors she had interacted with the day before. She placed the cup down on the desk and stood with her hands on her hips, stoically accepting this was not the first or last time to be disappointed. The rest of her belongings were also left untouched as she looked over the pile of correspondence that needed filing next to her black Ericsson rotary phone, the unopened envelopes on her in-box, the stack of steno pads with three shorthand notes that needed transcribing, and two scribbled phone numbers on her desk calendar as reminders to call for supplies and a box for pickup. She lifted her cup, took a couple of sips of coffee, returned it to her desk, and proceeded to the women’s restroom to fetch some wet paper towels. After wiping the work area clean she again went to the restroom to wash her hands, returned to her desk, rubbed some lotion on her hands she had retrieved from her purse, and finally sank into her chair with a sigh of relief ready to start her day.

The office began to fill up with dusty sunlight coming through the windows as coworkers flowed by with their Buenos días, Señorita Marta (Good morning, Miss Marta). She then opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out two pieces of typing paper, placed carbon paper between the two, and scrolled the combined pieces into her Remington #10 typewriter.

When it came to her job, Marta was fastidious and her work ethic was strictly business. She wasn’t much for office chatter or gossip except maybe with her best friend Gloria. Not that Marta was unapproachable but she liked the distance the work environment created because it ensured nothing would keep her from doing her job and doing it well. Inundated in work as she appeared to everyone and at times seemingly annoyed over the whole affair, she preferred not to share her true love for her work and daily challenges that accompanied them.

Halfway through the morning, Marta was deep in thought proofreading a business letter for a union official threatening a strike of the Ciudad Juárez bus drivers. This was not exactly what the city hired her to do but if the work was light, she was willing to spend time to help out the unions. Aside from her desire to excel in her job, Marta had a passion for volunteering time to social issues without compensation.

Marta’s desk sat outside the office of one of her executives about two meters in front of a heavily travelled hallway. She tried moving to another location but frankly her executives loved the attention she attracted and attracted she did. They enjoyed having many walk by and having an eye-catching secretary who also happened to take her job seriously certainly made everyone else look good. Nonetheless, it made it difficult for Marta to ignore greetings from those that passed by most of which were male but she dealt with it.

Deciding whether to make a persuasive argument for increased salaries or make a more forceful plea, she quickly pulled the public bus drivers union’s demand letter towards her at the sound of light metal hitting her desktop. The sound was not foreign to her but it always made her jump every time it happened. It was an empty used .45 Automatic Colt Pistol (ACP) cartridge shell, which usually meant Ramírez had once again rid the world of another malcontent. She rearranged her documents firmly in front of her and looked up directly into his face.

Unquestionably annoyed, she cried out, "Why do you insist on giving me these? I am not impressed, Señor Ramírez (Mr. Ramírez)! Do you think that I want to see th… ?"

Ramírez interrupted to minimize the risk of her getting angrier and with a hint of humor said, I just want you to know that not only am I protecting society of drug traffickers and criminals, rest assured that your safety is of great importance to me. His baritone voice was sultry and authoritative, yet with Marta, he made sure he did not overstep his bounds and come across too strong. They have had this discussion several times before, but today it seemed like he had something else on his mind.

Eyes squinted and firm lipped, she rested both fists on her hips to reinforce her disapproval. "I do not need protection, much less from you, Señor Ramírez! I don’t associate or involve myself with the criminal element. It makes me feel very uneasy at times to know what