When the Angels Came: A Novel

By Rudy Apodaca

Relatively few Latino novels are published yearly in the United States. Now, from Rudy Apodaca comes When the Angels Came, a compelling story of a 12-year-old boy and of the old man who befriends him and a poignant narrative of their unparalleled friendship.

The story begins in 1934, in west Texas, when Santiago Dominguez, as a six-year-old, loses his parents and is then raised by his loving uncle. Four years out of high school, as a Marine, Santiago finds himself fighting in Korea, where he’s injured and awarded the
Silver Star for bravery.

Two years later, in 1952, he moves to San Miguel, the “tiniest” of villages hidden along the Rio Grande in southern New Mexico. There, for many years, he lives a quiet and private life, earning a reputation as a good man but nonetheless a recluse. Being modest, he tells no one of his past. Not until 2011, when Jamie Almaguer moves into San Miguel with his parents, do the boy and Santiago, now 83 years old, meet. The old man is now known as Don Santiago, the title, a tribute of respect.

Despite warnings from other youngsters to stay away from Don Santiago, “The Hermit,” as they call him, Jamie, by mere happenstance,
meets the old man at a grocery store. From that chance meeting, the two begin a relationship that bonds them, despite their age difference. Don Santiago guides and comforts Jamie through difficulties in his young life, his first confrontation with racism, the sexual assault of his close friend, and the sudden illness of his mother.

In time, Jamie comes to treasure Don Santiago, who molds him, providing the tools to tackle life’s issues. This, at a time most youngsters, often with considerable apprehension, are exploring the world around them and what living in it is all about. Ten years later, when a graduate
student, Jamie makes his final entry in his journal, the spirit of Don Santiago within him.

Above all else, Jamie writes, Don Santiago gave me what I considered the greatest gift anyone can give another. He believed in me. That can do much to invigorate and inspire the soul and the mind of a youngster just barely starting out in life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665577069

Rudy Apodaca

Rudy Apodaca, a native of New Mexico, lives with his wife, Nancy, in Austin, Texas. He began his career as a trial attorney and practiced law in Las Cruces, New Mexico for 22 years before serving as an appellate judge on the New Mexico Court of Appeals for about 14 years, over two years of his tenure as Chief Judge. When he’s not writing, he divides his time between providing mediation/arbitration services, doing volunteer work when time permits, and especially spending time with his children and grandchildren. He’s the author of several essays. For additional information, visit his website at www.rudyapodaca.com.

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© 2023 Rudy Apodaca. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7707-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7705-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7706-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022922374

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Notes

Prologue

Book 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Book 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Book 3

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Book 4

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Book 5

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

About The Author

WHEN THE

ANGELS CAME

ALSO BY RUDY APODACA

---------

The Waxen Image

Pursuit

A Rare Thing

In memory of my dear friend and U. S.

Army buddy, Adolfo Chico Diaz

NOTES

A few individuals read the completed manuscript of When the Angels Came and provided their immeasurable insight, criticisms and suggestions. The first of these, by beloved wife, Nancy, is one I can always trust to give me her honest opinion, even when it might hurt. She read this manuscript as objectively and as critically as a devoted wife of 56 years is able to do, and she made me feel as I discussed the book with her that she believed it to be my best writing of fiction so far. She has always believed in me, even when I myself didn’t or felt I had failed her. I am blessed that I’ve had her by my side for most of my life, encouraging and inspiring me in ways that only she knows best. I’ve learned much from this beautiful and humble person who has stood by me for many years and has taught me much humility. My special thanks and my love go out to her.

My heartfelt gratitude and thanks to other early readers, all of them dear friends, Norman Keifetz, Betty Melragon, Issamary Simmons Benavides, Tito Medina, Kristie Medina Garcia, and last but not least, my daughter, Cindy Fox, all who gave of their valuable time to provide me with their insight into the story and its characters, which turned out to be helpful in my making changes to the narrative. Once again, I thank my dear friend, Adolph Chico Diaz, now deceased, to whom I’ve dedicated this work. He was my Army buddy who helped me with war scenes I’ve used in my past writing and in this book. His support of my writing career has been a blessing. Eddie Gamboa, a devoted relative and strong supporter but also my trusted friend, who was wounded as a Marine during the Korean War, provided me valuable insight from his battle experiences that I used not only in this book but in my previous novel, A Rare Thing.

I also wish to give special recognition to my fine friend, Norman Keifetz, a fellow writer and novelist, who, together with his wife, Joyce Engelson, a long-time book editor for several major publishing houses in New York City and a novelist in her own right, gave me literary guidance through the many years I was fortunate enough to know them. I thank Norman not only for his guidance and help with my writing through the years but for his honesty in critiquing my work in my last three novels. His friendship and editing assistance have been invaluable to me.

Finally, I wish to thank all of my loyal readers who have told me they enjoy my books and the stories and characters I choose to write about. As a final note, I wish to repeat what I’ve said before, that I’ve learned it is the fiction writer’s task to evoke the emotions of the reader in the telling of a story. It is my sincere wish and hope that I’ve succeeded doing that with the story and characters found in When the Angels Came.

PROLOGUE

Jamie Almaguer’s First Journal Entry, Spring of 2021—

LITTLE did I know my family’s move to San Miguel, a place of tranquility and the tiniest of villages, would change my life forever. I owed that to a unique individual—a man in his early 80s by the name of Santiago Dominguez, known to the people of the small community as Don Santiago.

A lost tourist stumbling onto the village or one headed past it to dine at Chope’s, well known for its Mexican cuisine in the community of La Mesa, might warn fellow travelers not to blink or they’d miss San Miguel.

The village lay along the Camino Real, used by Spanish settlors in the 1600s trekking from the interior of Mexico and following the Rio Grande north to Santa Fe.

When I first set out to create this journal, I intended to write about an individual I met in a place I hadn’t even heard of. Yet, I suppose some would consider my narrative a coming-of-age story. That might be somewhat accurate, as most of the story’s events took place at a time when I approached my teenage years, a rather formative period for most youngsters.

But my focus is on a man who was a great influence in my life, transforming me at a time when I plodded through the struggles we encounter in our youth. It is then most of us, often with some apprehension and even out-and-out fear, began to explore what this world and living in it are about.

Reflecting on the months following our move ten years ago to San Miguel, I’ve come to recognize how that period molded me to become who I am today in my early twenties.

I treasure with immeasurably fond memories that time in my life when I learned so much from a seemingly simple person, yet wise and intelligent, who showed me affection, as well as interest and energy, in teaching me the tools with which to approach life’s issues.

Don Santiago was 83 years old in the early summer of 2011, when I moved to San Miguel as a boy of 12. He had lived there most of his life.

Without doubt, Don Santiago opened my eyes to the wonders in store for us when we believe we know a person well, only to be surprised by the revelation we may not know that person at all.

Don Santiago was a man who never desired fame. Some might say he was a man without ambition. If that were meant in the sense that he was a person without a desire to be powerful or famous or without motivation for acquiring material things or for what we usually consider in our culture as living a life of wealth, I’d agree.

But that hardly painted a picture of who he was, simply because I believe he could have done all that if he had wanted to. He was ambitious in aspiring for goals he set for himself to become a better person.

Most of us, Don Santiago believed, wrongly equate monetary wealth as a measure of success in life. To him, success’s true measure hardly included the accumulation of material things.

He once said to me, Some seem to think they’re worth a lot of money just because they have it. When he said that, there was a trace of pity on his face.

Not only did he live in a modest abode, but he lived modestly. Other than small bank accounts, his furniture and furnishings, and an old model Chevrolet, he hadn’t accumulated enough property to be considered successful as we use that term to describe a person of wealth.

To me, he was significantly more successful than many of the materially rich. He measured the real worth of others by their adherence to humility, civility, honesty, and fairness, regardless of material wealth.

He knew what it meant to be happy, while accepting true happiness was only transient, almost nonexistent at times. But even such happiness, he once told me, is easier to come by if one doesn’t first miss out on being fair and giving—qualities I believed he himself possessed. To me, Don Santiago’s goodness in dealing with others was nobility at its best.

He was way too humble to believe he might make a good example to others on how to live or how to conduct oneself in his dealings with those who crossed one’s path. And so, he possessed humility, not arrogance. He concentrated on his behavior toward others, without fanfare or any notice whatsoever, as he kept very much to himself. But he was fair and honest to those he chose to reach out to or to those who reached out to him.

Because he kept to himself and didn’t meddle in others’ affairs, he was known as unsociable. That was why he was considered somewhat of a recluse by most inhabitants of the community, especially by the children, who even knew him as The Hermit.

Not long after I met him, I concluded the name the youngsters attached to him was a misnomer, even though the old man could indeed be perceived as a loner because he kept his life private and hardly mingled with others. Above all, he respected others’ privacy, as he expected others to respect his.

I admired him for his many good qualities but especially for what I considered his magnificence. And to think I found such an individual in the humble village of San Miguel.

But it was what happened in the end that stood out for me. Something that wasn’t only magnificent but prophetic. The event convinced me of the magnitude of Don Santiago’s faith and goodness, not only concerning God but in all things spiritual and ultimately, in our humanity, which he deemed vitally important to our survival.

It was that rare and surreal occurrence that convinced me I was truly blessed to have met such a human being. I felt honored to have been chosen by him to share a small part of who he was. That alone, if nothing else, would change me forever.

BOOK 1

CHAPTER 1

Socorro, Texas, 1934—

A scattering of trees in small groupings here and there sprawled sparsely throughout the open terrain of the small town on the north bank of the Rio Grande. It was arid country with little rainfall, bringing about the dry air and haze of dust to the inhabitants and their surroundings, seemingly forever.

The small bus pokily approached the dirt street corner where its awaiting passengers lined up to enter, eager to hide from the hot morning sun. It was an old-model vehicle, maybe a 30-seater, that rattled as it slowed down, its brakes squealing when the bus grinded to a halt.

The driver opened the passenger door, and the first of the passengers entered, handing a ticket to the indifferent driver, who punched it and gestured the passenger to a seat.

Like most of Socorro’s streets, the road where the bus came to a stop was narrow and unpaved. It was powdery, creating dust in the air, even when traffic was light or the winds didn’t blow.

Feliz Dominguez, and his wife, Altagracia Gomez de Dominguez, stood at the back of the line, waiting their turn.

Feliz’ younger brother, Ben, stood alongside the couple, holding the hand of a boy of six, Santiago. The youngster’s eyes showed a veil of sadness.

Unlike most Latinos, the boy possessed light skin, which created a pronounced contrast with his thick, black hair. His vivid green eyes, an ethnic rarity, stood out and gave him a strong, healthy appearance, despite the sad look on his face.

The boy let go of his Uncle Ben’s hand and ran up to his mother. I want to go with you, Mama. He spoke in Spanish as he clung to her knees. "Por favor déjame ir con tigo. Please let me go with you."

Altagracia looked forlornly at her husband, then bent over her son, taking him by the shoulders. "Me gustaría mucho, hijo, she said in a sad tone. I would like to very much, son. Pero no se puede ser. But it can’t be."

Santiago began to cry. Feliz picked up his son.

"Volveremos antes de que te des cuenta. We’ll be back before you know it."

He put his son down next to Ben. Now be a good boy and go with your Uncle Ben. He turned to his brother. "Please take good care of him, Benjamín."

Ben nodded. "You know I will. Vayan con Dios."

Santiago stopped crying as he waved bye to his parents and wiped his moist cheeks with the back of his hand. Feliz and Altagracia smiled and waved back, and then disappeared into the bus.

The bus’s gears grinded as the driver put the vehicle into gear. The timeworn vehicle slowly crept down the dusty road leading to the paved highway that would take its passengers on a day-long shopping trip to nearby Juarez, Mexico, El Paso’s sister city across the border.

Ben, holding on to the boy’s hand, walked across the street. Before we go home, let’s you and I have a treat. We’ll go in here and grab us a soft drink, okay?

The boy smiled at his uncle as they entered a grocery store on the corner. It was early morning, but already the day was hot, a blistering sun unhindered by clouds shining down on them. A soda pop sounded refreshing to Santiago. He even knew what he would get—a Grapette, his favorite soft drink.

---------

Most of the houses in Socorro were adobe and stood on the edges of the streets, leaving no room for sidewalks, much less a front yard. There were few kept yards or lawns. Mostly, the only grass growing throughout the town was wild Bermuda blown in by the high winds through the open terrain. Some of the kept yards that did exist were surrounded by weather-beaten wood or sagging barbed wire fences. There were few planted trees or maintained lawns.

---------

Later that day, mid-afternoon, Santiago woke up from a nap. His Uncle Ben had insisted he try to go to sleep, telling him that when he woke up, it wouldn’t be much longer before his mom and dad returned from their day trip. Santiago, an extremely bright boy, knew his uncle was exaggerating because his mother had told him they’d be back home at around seven o’clock. He could already tell time. He awakened at four.

He also understood well the purpose of his parents’ trip when his father explained yesterday that they would be leaving for the day in the morning. He remembered when his parents had visited Juarez before. They mostly went there to shop for clothes at shops that were much less expensive than the stores in El Paso, where his mother usually shopped.

But today both parents were visiting a dentist in the Mexican city, to get their teeth worked on. That, too, was less costly than the dentists in Ysleta, just north of Socorro, or even in El Paso. There were no dentists in Socorro. Santiago would have liked to have accompanied his mom and dad. But he comprehended why his parents didn’t take him on today’s trip. They anticipated long waits while they got their teeth fixed, and that didn’t fit in with taking a six-year-old along.

He went with them a year or so ago, and he recalled tagging along as his mother shopped from store to store. Back then, he looked forward to buying the Mexican candy that one could hardly find in Socorro or El Paso. This morning, before his mom and dad left the house to catch the bus, he told his mother that he wouldn’t mind waiting for them at the dentist’s office. He pled with her to take him along. She placated him by promising they’d bring him much more candy than what they would have allowed him to get if he went along.

---------

It was already six later that afternoon when there was a loud knock at the door. Santiago was in the bedroom at the back of his uncle’s apartment, but he heard the knock. He heard his uncle open the door and the murmur of voices. Immediately afterward, Uncle Ben appeared at the bedroom door, his face reddened and his wide-open eyes with fear.

There’s been an accident, Santiago! he shouted. Carlos, the deputy, is waiting to take me to the hospital in El Paso, where the injured were taken. He hurriedly pulled a stunned Santiago off the bed.

Quickly! I must take you to Doña Carmela’s, where you can stay ‘til I get back.

Doña Carmela was a widow who lived alone in a small house across the street.

But Mama and Daddy. Santiago’s eyes were wide with fear. Are they gonna be all right?

That’s what I plan to find out. Hurry, let’s go. Ben reached for the boy’s hand and pulled him out of the room.

---------

Late that night, Ben sat on his bed, his nephew weeping as Ben held him close. Santiago had stayed on the bed all night since his uncle picked him up at Doña Carmela’s. As best he could, Ben was again attempting to explain what happened. And why the boy’s mother and father were never returning to him. He found it the most difficult task he had ever done in his life. He attempted to console the boy, he himself in tears. Not so much for his own loss as for the child’s.

A blowout of the right, worn-out front tire caused the vehicle to swerve uncontrollably over the highway’s embankment, where it careened, then rolled into a culvert, finally coming to a halt as it impacted a concrete barrier.

Both the driver and Santiago’s parents, seated at the front of the bus, died on impact along with other passengers, according to the state troopers who investigated the accident. Only three of the 18 passengers had miraculously survived, critically injured at Hotel Dieu Hospital in El Paso.

---------

The tragic accident occurred on a Friday. Rosary and funeral mass services for Feliz and Altagracia Dominguez were held at the same time. The rosary services at a local mortuary in the evening on the following Monday and the funeral mass the following morning at La Purisima Catholic Church in Socorro. Burial followed immediately after the mass at Socorro Mission Cemetery.

The two brothers, Feliz and Benjamin, had been orphaned as youngsters and had no living relatives. Altagracia, who had been born in Socorro, did have two, elderly cousins living there. They and a few friends and neighbors of the family gathered for a small reception after the burial at Ben’s apartment.

Santiago’s parents had done a fine job of teaching their son obedience, and so Santiago usually obeyed his uncle’s wishes. But that day, the boy insisted on staying in the apartment’s only bedroom when he and his uncle returned from the burial. After much effort, Ben finally persuaded the boy to come out during the reception and to help him greet the guests. A few minutes before the last guest left, the boy slipped into the bedroom to be alone, and Ben let him stay there the rest of the day and night.

---------

A week passed before Santiago felt well enough to leave the bedroom during the day for good. Before then, he slept and just lay on his bed, hardly without a word, and would leave the room only to go into the kitchen and eat what Ben had prepared. Ben had to force Santiago to take his daily bath during that first week. The man felt lost, not knowing what else he could do or say to help his nephew get through this terrible time. Yet, no matter his grieving, the boy felt loved and cared for by his uncle, but he terribly missed his parents.

At the time of the deaths, Ben worked as a welder in Ysleta, within walking distance of Socorro. Because Santiago wasn’t in school when his parents died, Ben had arranged with Carmela, the widow across the street, to care for Santiago during the day until Ben returned home from work.

To compensate for not being with Santiago during weekdays when he was at work, Ben spent practically every minute of his free time on weekends caring for the boy. He wanted to keep his nephew occupied to ease his grief. Many times, he’d encourage Santiago to get out of the house to play with the other youngsters in the neighborhood. Often, he’d go out of the apartment with him. Santiago respected his uncle and tried to follow his wishes, but even then, he’d spend much of his time secluded in the bedroom.

Santiago liked his uncle, and the two of them always got along well. He had also sensed long ago, when his father was alive, that he and Uncle Ben were very close. Somehow, that past closeness of the two brothers helped quell his loneliness without the two persons whom he had deeply loved and who were now gone from his life.

Santiago began his first year of school only a few weeks after his parents’ deaths, and that turned out to be a blessing. It helped not only the boy, but Ben, to cope with their loss. Classroom activities took the boy’s mind from the emptiness he felt without his parents.

There was one other event that helped occupy Santiago’s time to take away from his emptiness. That occurred about a month after school started.

Ben’s bedroom had a wide closet occupying the length of the room’s far wall, fitted with sliding doors. Ben, in need of storage space, built it himself with his landlord’s permission. He used half of it to hang his clothes and the shelving above for items he used only occasionally. The other half he used for storage of items he hardly ever used. It was stacked with boxes all the way to the top but had some space to the side along the floor.

Santiago’s toys, since the day his parents’ house was vacated a few weeks after their deaths, were spread all over Ben’s apartment. One Saturday, Ben gave his nephew permission to store the toys in the closet where he would have access to them without their being all over the place, as Ben put it. As Santiago began moving some of the boxes to make space, he came across a guitar case. Curious, he opened it and found a classical guitar. His find excited him.

At the time, Ben was occupied with a major project adding shelving to some of the cabinets in the kitchen and listening to music on the radio while he worked. After being there for half an hour and not having heard a sound from Santiago, he went into the bedroom to check on him. There, sitting in the middle of the bed, he found his nephew, strumming away at the nylon strings.

Santiago displayed a wide grin. I didn’t know you played the guitar. He went on strumming, making noise but not music.

I forgot I put it there. Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. I used to store it under the bed, where it was easy to get to.

Santiago handed him the guitar. Play something for me. Please.

Ben took the guitar. I haven’t played in a long time. Probably a bit rusty.

That’s okay. You’re only playing for me.

Ben adjusted his position on the bed, sat up straight, and strummed a few chords. Even at his age, Santiago could tell his uncle was talented, for his quick figuring made the guitar almost sing.

Santiago grinned. Wow! That’s really good. Do you sing too?

Ben stopped playing. Yes, I sing along with the Mexican ballads I play but haven’t got much of a voice.

Play and sing, Uncle Ben.

Hey, we’ve both got work to do. He stood up and began to put the guitar away. Let’s finish our work, you here, and I, in the kitchen. He closed the case, leaving the guitar on the bed. Later, I promise I’ll play. And even sing a tune or two for you. But for now, let’s get back to work.

He started to leave the room but stopped and turned. And after today, when you finish, I don’t ever want to see another toy out unless you’re playing with it. Is that a deal?

Santiago jumped off the bed. It’s a deal.

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Even when Santiago was a youngster of three or four, Ben recognized the boy was much brighter than other children his age. And more so now, Ben sensed the boy’s maturity, especially his comprehension, was beyond his years. When he spoke to Santiago about events surrounding his parents’ death, for instance, he noted the way the youngster caught on quickly.

One day, after Ben picked up his nephew at the widow’s home, he sat down with him before dinner. With a different approach in mind, he believed Santiago was ready for the talk he planned to have with him. Once again, he hoped the boy would understand what he had to say yet knowing that he might not. In any case, he had to try.

I wanted to say something again about your mom and dad’s deaths, Santiago, he began.

I know they’re not coming back, Uncle Ben. You already explained that.

Yes, I know. That’s what I said ‘dying’ means. Those who die go to heaven.

And that’s where Mama and Daddy are, you said.

That’s right. But now, I want to say something else. It’s got to do with their deaths, of course, but in a different way. If you understand what I’m about to say, it might make you feel a little better, okay?

Okay.

Ben cleared his throat. We already know very well, Santiago, he began, that you suffered a great loss when your parents died. I did, too, for I loved them dearly. But I felt worse for you because it’s more difficult for a youngster your age to comprehend these terrible things.

Ben paused as he studied the boy’s reaction. I know when you and I’ve talked about your parents before, it’s something you’d rather not talk about.

Santiago nodded. Yes, but I understand you’re just trying to help. And although I’d rather not talk about death and about missing Mama and Daddy, when you’ve talked about them, it’s made me feel good because it shows that you care. I feel better having you here with me.

"I’m so glad you feel that way, Santiago. What you’re saying is that you and I are close to one another. Remember, too, I need you to fill the emptiness I feel for our loss. We have each other, even though your parents aren’t here. And that’s a good thing, right?"

Right.

"And I do care for you. I want to do everything I can to raise you as I think your parents would have wanted me to."

I know it’s a lot of work, Uncle Ben. I miss Mama and Daddy, but I’m glad I have you. Like I said, that makes me feel good.

Ben nodded. I’m happy to hear that. But there’s one important thing I wanted to say; why I wanted to talk to you. He sighed. Although you suffered a terrible loss, as bad as it was, it could have been worse.

The boy gave his uncle a puzzled look. I don’t understand.

Let me put it this way, Santiago. Do you remember how much you begged your mom and dad to take you with them on their trip?

Yes.

I could tell it hurt them to see you so upset they were leaving you behind. But I think you understood why they felt they couldn’t take you with them.

Santiago nodded. Yes, because they were going to see a dentist, which would take a long time. And they didn’t want me to be by myself.

And you know, even as a six-year-old, that would be asking too much of you, right?

The boy hesitated. I know that’s what Mama and Daddy thought. But I could have done it, honest I could have.

Ben laughed. It wouldn’t surprise me if you could have, Santiago. But the fact is your parents didn’t want to put you through that, right?

The boy nodded. Yes, I know.

And so, you realize your parents were doing what they felt was best for you.

Santiago nodded again.

Well, when they wouldn’t let you go with them, that meant you couldn’t get on the bus.

Santiago merely nodded.

And if they had allowed you to go, you would have been on the bus when the accident happened.

That’s right. His face lit up. And you’re saying I might have been hurt too. He paused. Maybe even died.

Exactly. Good boy. I thought you’d understand. He took a deep breath. Your mom and dad’s decision most likely saved your life.

You’re right, Uncle Ben! And I wouldn’t be here with you right now.

Yes. And more importantly, you wouldn’t be here with me and everyone else not just now but ever again. Not having gone with your parents that day means you now have a chance to have a normal and healthy life—to have a future.

Gee, Uncle Ben, I’m glad you explained it that way. I hadn’t thought about it.

And that’s what I meant earlier when I said as bad as losing one’s parents can prove to a child, it would have been worse if you had gone with them and been killed also. Thank God that didn’t happen.

Me too. I’m glad.

It’s what I consider as something that came from God, you’re still being here on this earth—alive. Ben let out a big sigh. So, let’s be glad together, shall we.

He gestured. Come here and give me a big hug. He opened his arms, and they embraced.

That conversation was a turning point in young Santiago’s life. Eventually, with greater understanding, he’d grasp the significance of his uncle’s explanation.

In the next few weeks, the boy’s spirits were lifted dramatically, and he began to look forward to a life that most likely wouldn’t have taken place but for his parents’ decision not to take him on that fateful trip. His parents had given him the gift of life, and he’d forever be grateful to them for that gift.

From that moment forward, he could look to his future. Although he had suffered a horrific loss, his will to move on became stronger. He’d still miss his parents terribly, but the loss didn’t lessen his gratitude or adversely impact his resolve to live his life to the fullest. And knowing his parents had made all that possible reinforced his strength to do that.

---------

The day Santiago discovered his uncle’s guitar was the beginning of a musical interest that would occupy the boy for the rest of his life.

For several years after the discovery, Ben took the time each weekend to teach Santiago fingering and chord lessons, and his efforts paid off. A quick learner, within a few months Santiago was playing some of the less intricate Mexican corridos that Ben had played for many years.

When Santiago was 10, Ben paid for guitar lessons so the boy could learn classical music. Ben never saw his nephew’s interest falter. If anything, it deepened. For Santiago’s twelfth birthday, Ben bought him his own classical guitar. Often, they’d enjoy playing together.

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Ben very much missed his brother, Feliz, and his sister-in-law, Altagracia. When he prayed to God, he’d take a few moments to pray for Feliz and Altagracia and would also thank them for providing him with the gift of their son, whom he loved dearly and treated as if he were his own son. He often wondered what his life would have been like without Santiago. He felt blessed that in losing a brother, he had gained a son.

CHAPTER 2

Socorro, Texas, 1942—

BEN Dominguez, a somber look on his face, walked through the entrance of the El Paso County Jail in downtown El Paso.

He noticed the man in uniform on the other side of a lit window on the far side wall of a crowded lobby, which to him looked like a teller window at a post office. He approached the employee at the window as the man he was speaking to walked away.

I was told my nephew was being detained here. James Overton from the juvenile probation office asked me to come. Is he in?

The clerk simply nodded and handed Ben a sheet of paper on a clipboard and a pen. Please fill this out. Mr. Overton will be notified you’re here.

After returning the filled-out form to the clerk, he found a seat and sat down. Prepared to wait a long time, he was surprised when a man opened a door and stuck his neck out into the lobby.

Ben Dominguez, the man shouted above the murmurs.

Ben immediately walked up to the door. I’m Ben Dominguez.

The man extended his hand. James Overton, Mr. Dominguez. Please come with me.

The two men shook hands.

Overton led Ben through a narrow, semi-dark hallway.

Is my nephew all right? Ben followed Overton.

Scared, but he’s fine. Overton didn’t turn as he continued walking. That’s the way we prefer juveniles when they’re brought in here—scared. That, I think, is a good sign. Your nephew seems like a good kid.

He is. Usually.

Overton entered an open doorway, and Ben followed.

Please have a seat. Overton gestured to one of the two chairs on the nearside of a small wooden desk.

Will I be able to see him? Ben sat down.

At the far end, Overton sat in a reclining chair behind his desk.

I’ll do you one better, Mr. Dominguez. We’ll release him to your custody in a few minutes, and he can go home for the time being.

For the time being? What . . .

Overton quickly held up his hand. Look, let me bring your nephew in here. I’d like for him to tell you what happened in his own words. He owes you that much. Then I can explain to both of you the options available under the juvenile justice system in Texas. Since Santiago is only 14, he comes under the jurisdiction of our local juvenile court.

He stood up. Let me go get him.

---------

The scare noted by Overton took place six months ago, and it turned out to be the right scare at the right time for Santiago. He knew he was fortunate.

Santiago began his first year of high school only a month ago. He now sat in the front room of Uncle Ben’s apartment, waiting for his uncle to arrive from work. That morning before school, Ben explained that after he got back from work, he wanted to have another and hopefully the last serious talk with him since his trouble with the law.

That afternoon, Santiago and his uncle met with James Overton for the last time. A few days after their first meeting with Overton six months ago, in lieu of the filing of a petition against Santiago in juvenile court, he was admitted into the county’s prevention and diversion program. Youngsters meeting the criteria for the program underwent