Once Upon a Time in Brownsville

By Linda Longoria-Neff

Brownsville, Texas is a charming town by the Mexican border on the Gulf Coast. This extraordinary place, combined with the world-changing period of the early-mid 1900's, make the setting for Linda Longoria-Neff's anthology of fictional short stories.

These tales are composed with a blend of history, culture, and decades of life experience in a land rich in Spanish, Mexican, Texan, and American history. Journey back in time and become immersed in bicultural, bilingual, biracial family life through the Longoria-Neff's credible eyes.

The elements of tradition, religion, classism, gender roles, and Hispanic folklore woven throughout these anecdotes give us an authentic view of how it was... once upon a time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Longoria-Neff
• Release date: Jul 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386756538

Book preview

Once Upon a Time in Brownsville

By Linda Longoria-Neff

FOREWORD

Respect your elders . Do good deeds. Choose work that you find to be fun. Find a way to help others, and you’ll never be lonely or poor. These principles ingrained in me from childhood popped to mind the moment I heard of the opportunity to help Linda Longoria-Neff publish her work. Yet, even my parents who instilled these ideals were not born yet for some of these tales, and just young children for others. Oh, the wisdom and social insight that can be gleaned from people who lived in those times, in that place.

Brownsville, Texas is a charming town by the Mexican border on the Gulf Coast. This extraordinary place, combined with the world-changing time period of early-mid 1900’s make the setting for Ms. Longoria-Neff’s anthology of fictional short stories. She composes with such a realistic blend of history, culture, and authentic life experience she gained there, I felt it was an honor just to read her work. With hindsight spanning nine decades in a land rich in Spanish, Mexican, Texan, and American history, it is a privilege to witness a bicultural, bilingual, biracial family’s life through Ms. Longoria-Neff’s credible eyes. As a teacher and writer in the South Bay area of San Diego with a similar family dynamic, I felt a strong connection to Brownsville. The elements of tradition, religion, classism, gender roles, Hispanic folklore, and signs of the times woven throughout these anecdotes are truly exceptional.

The manner in which I received Mrs. Longoria-Neff’s work was equally unique in today’s writing world; hard copies. Paper pages, straight from an old-fashioned manual typewriter, and some photocopies of pages that were born on one. I found the print style and font seemed to be just as much a part of the story as the phrasing, Spanish accents, and local slang. With a nod from the professor himself, Craig C. Collins, and some stellar support from beta-reading authors like Kim Martins and Lindsay Johnston, I focused on keeping this original look and feel to the best of my ability.

Pages were scanned. New applications installed. Images translated into an editable digital document. Hand corrections for Spanish accents and tildes were transferred and formatted. It was my intention that this anthology deserved the genuine air of a period piece, right down to the font choice and the underscoring of titles. I carried an overwhelming sense that this medium needs to be preserved. This precious resource was formatted, edited, and published to paperback and digital platforms with great care so that more readers can see how it was... once upon a time.

PREFACE

When I was a girl, I thought I lived in one of the most fascinating places in the world. I still think that must have been true. I was a great reader and loved fairy tales. Once upon a time was a set of magic, transporting words that took me to a wonderful place. Though not one of these stories is based on any true story or person I knew at that time, my tales are all infused with a love for the people and ambiance I was part of as a child.

Having left Brownsville at a fairly young age, I often found myself musing on the wonderful culture I had left behind. I consoled my homesickness with thoughts of people I had met and remembered, and out of those recollections these characters emerged over time, starting with school-teaching memories and going way back to early childhood as these tales developed over the years.

These stories were mostly written many years ago now. I hope all lovers of old Brownsville enjoy these stories as much as I have loved writing them.

Linda Longoria-Neff

HOW EL DIABLO AND LA MUERTE MADE IT TO THE AMERICAN SIDE

EL DIABLO IS THE DEVIL, and La Muerte is Death; and both of these fellows in their bodily form are very big in Hispanic America. They jump out at you in stories and pictures and cartoons, and even show themselves plainly in real life to the unwary. This story takes place at the time of my father, so it’s very possible that you haven’t heard it before even though you may know the title characters in it very well on your own.

The Treaty of Guadalupe had been signed many years before, and the people on both sides of el Rio Bravo del Norte, called in the U.S. the Rio Grande, knew quite well which was the richer side and which the poorer, and lots of people were willing to make the trek and cross the river in order to get a little change in their pockets and some frijoles in the cooking-pot for their families.

Well, El Diablo and La Muerte had long been resident and well-established in Mexico, as everybody knows. Things had gone on to the point where they were able to leave the business in the hands of their representatives most of the time; and El Diablo and La Muerte were happy to move out into the countryside and take things easy.

They shook the dust of the capital off their feet and shuffled northward, and settled in a little place not too far from el Río Bravo del Norte, in a charming village where the wind blew a gale all the time, hot in the summer for El Diablo, and cold in the winter, which satisfied La Muerte. They only wanted a quiet life, so in order not to frighten their fellow villagers they kept a very low profile, dressing in worn boots and wrinkled old black wool suits. They wore bandanas tied around to hide their necks, keeping their dusty black felt hats pulled well down over their faces.

The name of this village was Lámpara del Cielo, affectionately known as Lámpara, or even Lampa, to its inhabitants. It was a fine place with all the amenities for a comfortable life: strong little houses made of board or adobe; a well with clear water almost all the year round; plenty of bare ground for growing corn, beans, chilies, and tomatoes; and a plaza at the end of a long dusty road from whence there came, from time to time, kerosene for lamps, brown sugar, candles, and rice. Unfortunately, not everyone was happy with the status quo, and on the day that an old newspaper from Matamoros, Tamaulipas, blew down the road and into the plaza, everybody was ready for the message that it carried.

Land of opportunity, it said. Many leaving to make their way in the United States, and it told of economic opportunities that were coming up on the other side, and warned that Mexico might be left in the lurch.

The mayor of Lámpara del Cielo could read quite well, and when all the citizens of the town had heard the message that this newspaper had to bring them, they began to complain and grumble among themselves.

Why don’t we go to the Land of Opportunity ourselves? some enterprising young fellow suggested. We can all go in a body, and that way nobody will be lonely, or feel that they are in a strange land.

All these discussions transpired in the village plaza, a bare patch of earth with one scrub tree; and among the crowd, well back out of close contact, were El Diablo and La Muerte. Even though the villagers had never known who these strangers among them really were, they had always treated them with courtesy and kindness. So they turned to El Diablo and La Muerte and invited them to go along with them if they should so desire. El Diablo and La Muerte thanked them, and said they would talk it over and let them know.

The Lampareños continued their planning as El Diablo and La Muerte withdrew to confer about the situation. All the people of the village decided to go together; even the old and lame would be taken along on carts which would be constructed on the morrow. For the people of Lámpara del Cielo were nothing if not organized.

Meantime, El Diablo and La Muerte got out of town a little way to have their chat. Coming to a deserted jacal, a little shack at the site of the country dances that were held on Saturday nights, El Diablo said,

Let’s go in here and sit down. We need to talk this situation out, and it can best be done with a little help.

So they went over to a rickety table with two chairs, and El Diablo, who never forgot anything, looked under a loose board of the dance floor and pulled out a bottle of mezcal, half full. El Diablo was very familiar with this place, as he loved the Saturday dances and had made merry with the country maidens here on many occasions.

When he banged the bottle down onto the board table, El Diablo looked this way and that, and said to La Muerte,

Listen, nobody’s around here for miles and miles. Don’t you sometimes wish you could get out of these clothes and feel the breeze on your skin? All the villagers are up there on the plaza making their plans, so why not relax and enjoy our privacy for a while?

So they took off their clothes and sat down in the chairs, looking very scary indeed, even to each other: El Diablo with his bumpy, red, shiny skin, horns, goat hooves, and pointed red tail, and La Muerte with his old dry white bones and black-ringed eyes, with what little skin he had left falling off in tatters. But they accommodated each other for the sake of comfort, for you’ve never known agony until you’ve tried to cram goat hooves into leather boots or worn a tight black felt hat around your bare skull.

They found some cards and cigarettes and, as they played cards and drank and smoked, they discussed the pros and cons of moving to the other side.

Why go? Haven’t we got enough to do right here in Mexico? asked La Muerte, who had always been one of the busiest guys imaginable.

On the other hand, think of all the Mexicans who were born on the other side of the Rio Bravo and have had to make do with gringo ideas. They haven’t yet had the chance to get acquainted with us, said El Diablo. Wouldn’t it be fun to go over and give them the opportunity?

That sounded reasonable, and they decided to get dressed up again and go to the U.S.A. with their neighbors. But they lingered a while because it was a particularly good card game and the bottle wasn’t empty yet, so they were still there in the altogether when the town drunk, the one man who hadn’t been in the plaza with the rest, stumbled up from the brush where he’d been sleeping one off. Well, when he saw El Diablo and La Muerte there at that table, smoking and drinking and playing cards, he screamed at the top of his lungs and ran into town yelling all the way.

The people at the plaza were just dispersing to get ready for their trip, and they were all annoyed when the drunk ran up crying,

Everybody run for your lives! I just saw El Diablo and La Muerte out at the dance floor, sitting in the jacal and smoking and drinking and playing cards!

Now normally, nobody in their right mind would have believed him for he was full of strange tales, but this man’s hair and mustache had turned snow-white in testimony to the fright he had received, and his face was ashen gray. A hurried counsel and a head-count turned up the fact that only the two strangers were missing, and logic and instinct enlightened the villagers in one instant as to the true identities of their newest members. They decided to get out quick, and leave the two behind them, for who would want to take El Diablo and La Muerte with them into the land of promise? Leave them here in Mexico where they belonged!

El Diablo and La Muerte got dressed as quickly as possible, but as they approached the village they could see all the people of Lámpara del Cielo, with all their chickens and goats, and the poor skinny dogs that they wouldn’t allow to come into the house even in the rain, rushing in a body toward the river, their pockets full of tortillas, brown sugar, and bottles of well-water, and the aged and infirm packed over their shoulders like gunny sacks.

We’ll never make it, moaned La Muerte. They’ve got such a head start that we’ll never catch up with them now.

We’ve got to keep trying, said El Diablo, hobbling painfully along with his boots on the wrong hooves, Maybe something will happen, and they’ll take us along with them after all, for they would have to be carried across the river, those two, since they couldn’t bear the touch of water at all.

The people rushed to the edge of el Rio Bravo del Norte praying that it would not be at flood-tide, for they hadn’t thought of boats. Luck was with them; the river lay crooked and shallow, running along in muddy eddies with treacherous quicksand in some spots, but they would be able to wade over.

They looked back and called to their people who were trailing behind, Hurry! Come on! We can see El Diablo and La Muerte coming up in the distance!

The people of Lámpara del Cielo nearly despaired, and raised their arms to heaven praying that they would make it across and escape from El Diablo and La Muerte. Now, on that particular evening, everybody up above was busy on other things except for the Lord of All Earthly Boundaries, who was sitting puzzling long and trying to make sense of the Treaty of Guadalupe there in his office in the clouds. When he heard the supplications of the people of Lámpara del Cielo, he kindly responded by poking his finger through the celestial canopy, and at that moment a puff of blue flame ran right down the river from north to south as far as the eye could see, and the Lord of All Earthly Boundaries said, Go quickly through the flames, good former citizens of Lámpara del Cielo; wade through the water to the other side as you desire. Now the water is made magical, and under my protection, El Diablo and La Muerte will never be able to get across without you. Jump in!

Well, at this the animals changed their minds, poor dumb brutes that they were, and ran back into the chaparral to take their chances in Mexico after all. But the people, the laughing handsome boys and soft-eyed girls, thin young mothers with their suckling babes at their breasts and their little shirt-babies clinging to their shawls, fathers with the little shirt-and-pants kids on their shoulders and young men with the aged on their backs, dashed into the river. And they got across, dancing and giggling at the clear prickly feeling of the water and the crystal beauty of it; and when they heard those noises of generators and engines, and heard mechanical music and smelled the smoke of wonderful machines, they knew they had reached the promised land indeed; and they lay in the grass and laughed, and pulled out their dry tortillas and well-water and had a snack.

Night had fallen now, and the river was wide, and the people of Lámpara del Cielo did not realize that not everybody had gotten across. On the hurried exit from town, one young woman had sprained her foot and hadn’t quite been able to keep up with the rest. She was accompanied by her solicitous and loving fiancé, who had aided her in her painful journey and would gladly have picked her up and carried her along the way, but that she weighed one hundred kilos and he fifty-six.

Alas, by the time the couple reached the river bank, everyone