Jose Maria (“Chema”) Flores, a dark, crease-faced campesino of 57, was having family problems. He and his wife, Lupe, have eight children. One of their older sons, Jose, had gone off some time ago to dabble in crack and marry a woman also drawn to drugs.
Five years ago, police had visited the Flores home, and told Chema to come to the Ministerio Publico (MP — district attorney’s office) and bring his wife. Such biddings, especially in rural Mexico, prompt anxiety. Chema hated such meetings because they invariably meant documents. He had begun working when he was six, received a single spotty year of poor education, and does not read.
But this summons turned out to be saddening, rather that threatening. Jose, and his wife, had been arrested for beating their three-year-old child, Fortino — “Tinito” — and for possessing a gunny sack of drugs. The child had abrasions and bruises on his face and body. After meetings with a MP lawyer, Chema and Lupe were given custody of Tinito. The boy’s parents were jailed briefly. Today, eight-year-old Tinito is the top student in his third-grade class, and a member of the local junior ballet folklorico, which has performed in several Jalisco towns. Not long ago, the boy quietly offered to teach his unschooled abuelo (grandfather) to read if Chema would put a light fixture above the corner where he slept. He wanted to read before going to sleep. He was working on a child’s set of encyclopedias a friend of Chema’s had given him.
Now, the boy’s parents were trying to get him back. They came to Chema’s door, shouting angrily about this. Lupe, who took Tinito on the bus to school every morning and picked him in the afternoon, had chased her daughter-in-law away from loitering around the school, trying to take the boy away. She mentioned this his teacher and to the school’s directora.
In December, after Chema harvested his corn, he began working more in town as a gardener for Mexican and foreign homeowners. At Christmas, Chema was loaded with unexpected work when one of his patrons had to go north because of a sudden health problem. This meant the additional responsibility of being a velador (watchman) at night. Chema saw his family only briefly in the mornings.Right after Christmas, two quicos (policemen) visited Chema’s house. Jose Flores and his wife had gone to the Ministerio Publico. They’d decided to get their son back — legally — after five years. Lupe fielded this summons without telling Chema. He already had too much to do. She went by the local bus, taking an older daughter, the boy and an aunt with her. An ancient lesson, especially for campesinos: It’s aways best to have witnesses when dealing with government.
The official meeting included the crackhead son, Jose, his stoned wife, a Ministerio lawyer and the Ministerio Publico. Both Jose and his wife immediately began shouting loud accusations. They’d been grievously wronged “She and my father stole our son,” Jose declared. “She’s got him right there.”
“She won’t even let me talk to him, not even see him,” the wife cried.
The Ministero lawyer shook a finger at them, a serious Mexican admonitory gesture. “Calm yourselves. This is the Ministerio Publico, not some back alley.”
The two sat back down.
“I know you, Jose Flores, and your wife,” the lawyer said. “Five years ago, I was one of the policemen who arrested you two.” He put a hand on a scarred file in the middle of his desk. “You’re still taking drugs, both of you. And this child was taken from you because you were beating him.”
The lawyer nodded at Tinito. “You want to go live with these people, niño?”
Tinito looked at his abuela, who gestured for him to reply. “No, Seño. They hurt me.” He turned and put his face in Lupe’s lap.
“You are sure about that?” the Ministerio Publico said.
Lupe said nothing. Tinito began crying. “I don’t want to. They hurt me.”
“According to the school and the social worker’s reports,” the lawyer said, “I see that his health is fine. Who are these two people?” He nodded to the older daughter and Lupe’s aunt. Lupe introduced them.
“Will you tell me the truth, if I ask you if there are any problems in the home? With the child?”
They both described the boy’s home life and school regime, his normal diet, his accomplishments.
“Do you punish him, Señora?” the Ministerio Publico asked Lupe.
“He’s well behaved. But he is beginning to pick up swear words at school. I punish him for that.”
“And how do you punish him?”
“He has go to bed early without reading his encyclopedia. Or he has to clean out the chiminea after school and bring in the kindling for breakfast. Or he has to help wash dishes. If it’s a problem at school and he caused it, he has to clean the toilet and help with sweeping and mopping the house for two Saturdays.”
“No slapping, no spanking?” the lawyer asked.
“No.” Lupe glared at her son. “There’s been too much of that.”
The lawyer opened the file, pointed out something to the Ministerio Publico. “What about drugs in your family?”
“Pos, some of the older children have married; I don’t push myself into their lives. Some have gone to the other side (the United States). With the others, I don’t see any drugs.”
The lawyer and the MP stepped outside to talk briefly. The lawyer returned and sternly denied the request to place Tinito in his former, abusive home. He warned Jose and his wife to not to harass Lupe or Chema, and to never “stalk” the boy again. If they did, they would face jail time. “Neither of you can control your drug or alcohol use. Everyone knows that. Do something about that. And stay away from this child. You’ve proved you are a danger to him.”
Lupe waited days to tell Chema all this. He’s open about his past alcohol-laced forays, but extremely private regarding family affairs. It was a week later before he mentioned Lupe’s adventure, which he recited in great detail. Because he doesn’t read, he always repeats instructions until he’s sure of them. And he told this story as if he was repeating by rote what Lupe had told him.
“Que caray!” Chema crowed. “How bold Lupe was!” He shook his head. “She was scared. You never know which way those oficiales will go. But she went and put out that fire by herself.” He grinned delightedly and shook his head. “What a woman, eh?”
“You should buy her a gift,” I said. “Something personal. Not a new mop or boom.” Chema tends to think in very practical terms.
“Por Dios, si. Something pretty. Maybe I can find one of those soft scarfs like the gringas have! I’ll take her to church Sunday and she can wear it.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Hijole! Everyone will see how proud I am of what a fine woman she is.”