America is in the heart, a personal history, by Carlos Bulosan. by Bulosan Carlos

Author:Bulosan, Carlos.
Format: epub

l6o AMERICA IS IN THE HEART

humanity permeated the air, crushing the dream. And I heard the woman saying:

"There, now. It's all over."

I leaped to my feet, hiding myself from her.

"Did you like it?" she said.

I plunged through the wall of sheets and started running be tween the cots to the door. Benigno and the other men laughed, shouting my name. I could still hear their voices when I entered my tent, trembling with a nameless shame. . . .

i

CHAPTER XXI

When the cauliflower season was over my crew moved to Nipomo to work in the lettuce fields. I went to Lompoc and found the town infested by small-time gangsters and penny racketeers. My brother Amado was still with Alfredo, but they had given up bootlegging. Now they were partners in gambling, cheating the Filipino farm workers of their hard-earned money. I could not live with them.

I found a crew of lettuce workers on J Street and joined them. It was cold in Lompoc, for the winter wind was beginning to invade the valley from Surf. The lettuce heads were heavy with frost. I worked with thick cotton gloves and a short knife. When the lettuce season was over the winter peas came next. I squatted between the long rows of peas and picked with both hands, putting the pods in a large petroleum can that I dragged with me. When the can was full I poured the pods into a sack, then returned to my place between the long rows of unpicked peas.

Then the pea season was over in Lompoc, although farther down the valley some farmers were in need of workers to pick Seattle peas. I went to town and found that Amado and Alfredo had given up their gambling establishment, a large green table at the back of a Mexican poolroom. Amado told me that he wanted to go into the restaurant business, so he borrowed my money to start it. But as soon as he had my money he entered a dice game and lost all of it in a few throws. I was not angry. I felt that it was my obligation to help him. I still believed in certain codes that I had brought with me from the Philippines.

I learned that the Filipino dishwasher in a local restaurant called the Opal Cafe had died of poisonous mushrooms which he had picked somewhere in the valley. I took his place. I knew that I must help my brother. The place was notorious for its

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