Barrio Justice

that day, Tony and I decided to go to the river as we had done many times before. We had no real plans for the day, and would probably just skim rocks across the water or sit on the railroad trestle and watch the carps go by. From River Road, a dirt path cut down to the water’s edge, where we started throwing rocks to the other side. Tony’s landed all the way on the other bank while mine splashed into the water about three-fourths of the way across.

it was a warm summer day and not a soul could be seen at the river. A couple of mud hens poked around the brushes on the opposite shore. The sound of cars on the 9th St. Bridge echoed through the trees. Small cotton puff balls from the many willow trees floated lazily downstream.

Suddenly, we were approached by two okies (rustic white people), the older one about 16, and a younger kid about twelve.

Without cause, the big okie started taunting us, singling out Tony, probably because he was bigger than I was. The younger kid said nothing and standing bravely behind his tougher pal.

Unlike me, Tony was not afraid to fight anyone, even his older brother Ramón. Once, we had been picking apricots with his dad in Fruitvale, when Tony said something to Ramón which ticked him off.

“Take it back”, Ramón demanded. “Take it back!” His fists doubled. “Make me!” Tony challenged. “I’m warning you, take it back!” “Make me!” And with two brutal punches to the face, Tony slumped to the ground. Like a boxer who didn’t know when to stay down, Tony stood up again. “You gonna take it back!?” “No, I won’t!” So Ramón knocked him to the ground again. Tony’s mouth was bleeding but he defiantly staggered to his feet.

Thinking his brother had enough, Ramón turned to walk away, when in a flash, Tony produced a pocket knife and flung it, end over end towards his brother. I don’t know if he meant to hit Ramón with it, but the knife whizzed past his head and stuck cleanly into the wall of the barn, narrowly missing him! Tony stood there like a fool, when in a fury, his brother came towards him and with one ferocious blow to the face, leveled him. Tony did not get up this time.

But there was none of that bravado today as Tony backed away from the big okie. “Come on, leave us alone. We ain’t done anything to you”, Tony pleaded as the kid began pushing him, prompting him to fight. “What’sa matter Mex; you chicken, ain’tcha? Come on Mex, let’s see how tough you are.” My heart was thumping, as I envisioned the beating we both were about to get. “Come on, chicken shit. Come on.” Tony’s fists were clenched, his face beet red, but he did not push back.

When the big okie had thoroughly humiliated us, he and his little partner wandered off into the tree line along the river. “Don’t wanna see you Mexs around here anymore”, he yelled out and climbed the ladder to the catwalk, crossing to the opposite side of the river. We stood there, without saying a word, ashamed that neither of us had the courage to stand up to the kid.

But as we approached the barrio, it hit me. “Come on, let’s go get Diego!” Tony’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, Diego will take care of that bastard!” Diego was lived next door to me. As we approached, he was working on his car. “Hey, Diego”, I said “This pinche okie kid tried to beat us up at the river. Let’s go get em’.” Diego, stood up, wiped grease from his hands on his T-shirt, and said without hesitation, “Let’s go get em.” He was 15, not a big kid or even muscular for that matter, but he could fight. His family had come to Modesto from El Paso, Texas, and rented a small apartment behind Doña Margarita’s house.

His dad had gotten work at a slaughter house on Crows Landing Road. Diego had no love for okies, no matter how big, mean or ugly they were.

The three of us made our way back to the river, and I quickly spotted them on a sandbank on the other side. “There they are! That’s the bastard that pushed us around!” Tony urged. As if on a mission, we crossed the catwalk to the opposite bank. The two kids had not spotted us. Diego led the way, but as we approached the unsuspecting duo, Tony, infused with a renewed burst of courage, rushed out ahead of us, confronting the big okie kid. Pushing him on the chest with both hands, he yelled, “Hey, asshole, remember us?” His young partner began to cry. Tony backed away, and Diego, shorter than the guy, stood before him, showing no signs of anger or aggression. And In a matter-of-fact tone said “I heard you been picking on my two brothers, huh?”

“Me? Nah, man! I was just messing around with em’. I’m sorry man. Honest, I didn’t mean nuthin’ ”.

Diego delivered a right cross followed by a left to the face, and the kid went down. “That’ll teach you not to mess with my broth- ers!” Diego warned. The kid slowly staggered up and backed away. “Hey, I’m sorry man, I wasn’t gonna hurt em’. I’m sorry man.” For good measure, Tony stepped in and threw an body blow, to the kid’s chest. “Yeah, better not mess with us again”, he warned. naron. “¡Sí, Diego se encargará de ese hijo de la fregada!” Diego vivía al lado mío. Cuando nos acercamos, estaba trabajando en su coche. “Oye, Diego”, le dije, “este pinche okie nos trató de dar una paliza en el río. Vamos a buscarlos”. Diego se puso de pie, se limpió la grasa de las manos con la camiseta y dijo sin dudarlo: “Vamos a buscarlos”. Tenía 15 años, no era un niño grande ni musculoso, pero podía pelear. su familia había venido a Modesto desde El Paso, Texas, y alquiló un pequeño apartamento detrás de la casa de Doña Margarita. su padre había conseguido trabajo en un matadero en la Crows Landing. A Diego no le gustaban los okies para nada, no importaba cuán grandes, malos o feos fueran. te, Ramón giró para alejarse… pero en un instante, Tony sacó una navaja de bolsillo y se la lanzó de punta hacia su hermano. no sé si tenía la intención de apuñalar a Ramón con ella, pero la hoja pasó zumbando junto a su cabeza y se clavó limpiamente en la pared del granero ¡por poco y se la clava! Tony se quedó allí, como tonto, mientras Ramón, hecho en una furia, se le vino encima. Con un feroz golpe en la cara, lo dejó fuera de combate. Esta vez tony no se levantó de nuevo. richard ríos stockton, ca

As the three of us walked away in triumph, i couldn’t help but feel bad for the big okie and his little partner. t he victory rang hollow. From the catwalk, I looked down at pitiful duo on the sand bank; they looked so small, so helpless, like Tony and I had looked a little earlier, but at the same time, I felt sorry for myself, for my own cowardice.

Still, I grew to admire the courage of these chingones from el barrio, like Diego and ramón who stood up for us against those who, in the simplest terms, had no love for Mexicans.

Pero nada de esa bravuconería hubo hoy cuando tony retrocedió ante el gran okie “Ya, déjanos tranquilos. No te hemos hecho nada”, suplicó Tony cuando el muchachón comenzó a empujarlo, incitándolo a pelear. “Qué pasa Mex; eres gallina ¿no? Vamos Mex, veamos qué tan macho eres”. Mi corazón latía con fuerza, imaginando la paliza que ambos estábamos a punto de recibir. “Ya, pedazo de mierda ¡Vamos!” Los puños de Tony estaban apretados, su rostro rojo como una remolacha, pero no se defendió.

Cuando el grandote ya nos hubo humillado a gusto, él y su pequeño compañero se perdieron en arboleda que franqueaba el río. “No quiero ver Mexs rondando por aquí”, gritó mientras subía la escalera a la pasarela que cruzaba al otro lado del río. nos quedamos allí, sin decir una palabra, avergonzados de que ninguno de los dos tuvo el coraje de enfrentarse al matón.

Pero cuando ya nos estábamos cerca del barrio, me cayó el veinte. “¡Vamos, vamos a buscar a Diego!” Los ojos de Tony se ilumi-

Los tres regresamos al río y muy luego los vi en un banco de arena al otro lado. “¡Allí están! ¡Ése es el hijo’e perra que nos empujó!” instó Tony. Decididos, cruzamos la pasarela hasta la orilla opuesta. Los dos muchachos no nos habían visto. Diego iba adelante, pero cuando nos acercamos al desprevenido dúo, tony —infundido con un renovado estallido de coraje— corrió tomó la delantera y se encaró al okie grandulón. Empujándolo en el pecho con ambas manos, le gritó: “Oye, pendejo ¿te acuerdas de nosotros?” Su joven amiguito comenzó a llorar. tony retrocedió y Diego —aunque más bajo que el okie — se plantó frente a él. Y, sin mostrar signos de ira o agresión, sino en un tono práctico le dijo: “Supe que has estado fastidiando a mis dos hermanos ¿eh?”

“¿Yo? ¡Nah, hombre! solo era jugarreta. Lo siento, hombre. De verdad… no iba en serio para nada”.

Diego le mandó un derechazo seguido de un gancho de izquierda en la cara. El muchacho cayó. “¡Eso te enseñará a no meterte con mis hermanos!” le dijo Diego. El grandulón se levantó, tambaleándose y retrocedió. “Eh, dije que lo siento hombre, no iba a lastimarlos”. Lo siento, hombre. Para dejarlo claro, Tony le lanzó todavía un trancazo al cuerpo, alcanzándolo en el pecho. “Ahí tienes. Mejor que no vuelvas a meterte con nosotros”, concluyó.

Mientras los tres nos alejábamos triunfantes, no pude evitar sentirme mal por el okie grande y su compañero chico. La victoria sonó hueca. Desde la pasarela, miré al lamentable dúo en el banco de arena… se veían tan pequeños, tan indefensos —como Tony y yo nos habíamos visto hacia un rato. Pero, al mismo tiempo, sentí vergüenza de mí, por mi propia cobardía.

Aun así, llegué a admirar la valentía de estos chingones de el barrio, como Diego y Ramón, quienes nos defendieron contra aquellos que, desde su básica forma de ser, no querían ver Mexicanos.