Alfred Berggren | + Follow Poet |
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In Old California 22

El Segundo walks boards and he doth show
good balance warning native youths who dare
to make him stumble they must show some care.
Then carriage he now leads to colonnade,
and waits for family's entry three to share
but finds that Dona Rose has new plans made.

"If he'd bring the carriage," Dona Rose interrupted husband's reply,
"I'd be eternally grateful."
"Si senor," Don Hernandez continued, "You do us a great favor by such
common courtesy. Thank you."
"It's nothing, Excellency," he bowed smiling broadly at Margarita.
Margarita didn't like smile. It was the same smile he'd used in church
waiting for host and cup. It was a lecherous smile making her feel
unclean. She turned taking mother's arm.
"Look mama," she said, "it's stopped raining. If we stay on boards, we'll be safe."
Indian boys, directed by mission brothers, had laid boards in tandem from
colonnade to carriages. Boards were supported at link points on piles of
sodden adobe bricks. Boys, ankle deep in muddy water, offered help to
unsteady worshipers. Boards cleared, they played game of throwing mud
at each other again; they dodged, flailed water, taunted with much laughter,
faces, arms and hands more caked over, ruining mission shirt and pants.
Margarita knew they'd be in big trouble later. She doubted whether mother
could walk teetering boards safely without falling. Better to wait for carriage.
Waiting and submitting to ingratiating Huerra wasn't pleasant, but walking boards worse.
Segundo walked the boards. He looked thin, hat too big for his head. Margarita
saw boys laughing at him; she knew they'd try to make him fall. It didn't happen.
When drawing near, he pretended to shoot them with left pointed index finger.
Margarita saw indian boys quickly step away with fright. She remembered
father saying indians feared a left handed man, part of their superstition
mission life couldn't erase.

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