went to my father’s house to die. So their reconciliation took place at the very end.
Well, when my mother died, my tragedy began. I was about ten when I went to live with my father. I stayed there for two years and then left home to work. We had no stepmother until much later, at the very end. I had already left home when this happened. My father married a woman there, a woman who robbed him, took everything away from him and threw him out into the street, she and her brothers. They were about to kill him one night, for his money, but some neighbors stopped them, and then the woman left him. They had had a legal wedding. The woman, together with the people there, took the house and everything from my father.
Then he bought another little house on the other side of town, the same town, and he went into business again. But there he got deathly ill. Yes, at times we men want to be very strong and very
macho
, but at bottom we aren’t. When it is about a question of morality or a family thing that touches the very fibers of the heart, it hurts and aman cries when he is alone. You must have noticed that many people drown themselves in drink and others grab a pistol and shoot themselves, because they cannot bear what they feel inside. They have no way to express themselves or anyone to tell their troubles to, so they grab a gun and that’s all. They’re finished! And at times those who believe themselves to be
machos
are really not so when they are alone with their conscience. They are only braggarts of the moment.
When my father died, he left a little house over there with some goods, which I took over. I was the only one of his children left. I was already here in Mexico City, working in the restaurant. Some people down there sent me a telegram.
When I came, my father was still alive, and I saw him die. He told me, “I’m not leaving you anything, but I will give you a piece of advice. Don’t get mixed up with friends. It’s better to go your way alone.” And that’s what I’ve done all my life.
What he left me was very little. This half-brother of his, together with the people there, had me thrown in jail. I gave him what my father left for him in a written will, I was supposed to give him 50 percent. But he was a very lazy man, good for nothing and didn’t like to work. Well, I followed the will to the letter, and according to the law. Why, I even gave him an old Singer Sewing Machine that was in the house. I said to him, “You can take this uncle.” I, being good-hearted and sincere, said to him, “Look, this is what goes to you and take this machine for your wife.” Well, even after all of that, he had me thrown in jail. For a hundred
pesos
! I told him, “You’re a miserable so-and-so.” I gave him the hundred
pesos
, the others divided it up and left him with ten. You see how it was? Even among your own relatives you can’t trust anybody when it comes to money. People want to grab all they can.
Ever since I was little I liked to work. I was ambitious to earn money for clothes. I saw my father make money with his little business, and I wanted to have something of my own, not on a very large scale but I wanted to earn it with these, with my hands, not with my father’s money. I was never greedy for the inheritance from my father, not at all. I used to think, “If some day I have some money in my pocket, I want it to be through my own work, not because somebody gives it to me, a neighbor, relative, uncle or my father, no, sir. I want to earn it with these hands of mine.” And another thing, when I left home I knew that if I didn’t work, I wouldn’t eat.
I was about twelve when I left my father’s home. I ran away without telling anyone. First, I worked at a grain mill, then as a field hand on a sugar plantation, and then as a cane cutter. It was hard in the fields and I worked with a hoe all day long in the sun. They paid one and a half
pesos
per thousand canes but I could barely cut half of
Well, when my mother died, my tragedy began. I was about ten when I went to live with my father. I stayed there for two years and then left home to work. We had no stepmother until much later, at the very end. I had already left home when this happened. My father married a woman there, a woman who robbed him, took everything away from him and threw him out into the street, she and her brothers. They were about to kill him one night, for his money, but some neighbors stopped them, and then the woman left him. They had had a legal wedding. The woman, together with the people there, took the house and everything from my father.
Then he bought another little house on the other side of town, the same town, and he went into business again. But there he got deathly ill. Yes, at times we men want to be very strong and very
macho
, but at bottom we aren’t. When it is about a question of morality or a family thing that touches the very fibers of the heart, it hurts and aman cries when he is alone. You must have noticed that many people drown themselves in drink and others grab a pistol and shoot themselves, because they cannot bear what they feel inside. They have no way to express themselves or anyone to tell their troubles to, so they grab a gun and that’s all. They’re finished! And at times those who believe themselves to be
machos
are really not so when they are alone with their conscience. They are only braggarts of the moment.
When my father died, he left a little house over there with some goods, which I took over. I was the only one of his children left. I was already here in Mexico City, working in the restaurant. Some people down there sent me a telegram.
When I came, my father was still alive, and I saw him die. He told me, “I’m not leaving you anything, but I will give you a piece of advice. Don’t get mixed up with friends. It’s better to go your way alone.” And that’s what I’ve done all my life.
What he left me was very little. This half-brother of his, together with the people there, had me thrown in jail. I gave him what my father left for him in a written will, I was supposed to give him 50 percent. But he was a very lazy man, good for nothing and didn’t like to work. Well, I followed the will to the letter, and according to the law. Why, I even gave him an old Singer Sewing Machine that was in the house. I said to him, “You can take this uncle.” I, being good-hearted and sincere, said to him, “Look, this is what goes to you and take this machine for your wife.” Well, even after all of that, he had me thrown in jail. For a hundred
pesos
! I told him, “You’re a miserable so-and-so.” I gave him the hundred
pesos
, the others divided it up and left him with ten. You see how it was? Even among your own relatives you can’t trust anybody when it comes to money. People want to grab all they can.
Ever since I was little I liked to work. I was ambitious to earn money for clothes. I saw my father make money with his little business, and I wanted to have something of my own, not on a very large scale but I wanted to earn it with these, with my hands, not with my father’s money. I was never greedy for the inheritance from my father, not at all. I used to think, “If some day I have some money in my pocket, I want it to be through my own work, not because somebody gives it to me, a neighbor, relative, uncle or my father, no, sir. I want to earn it with these hands of mine.” And another thing, when I left home I knew that if I didn’t work, I wouldn’t eat.
I was about twelve when I left my father’s home. I ran away without telling anyone. First, I worked at a grain mill, then as a field hand on a sugar plantation, and then as a cane cutter. It was hard in the fields and I worked with a hoe all day long in the sun. They paid one and a half
pesos
per thousand canes but I could barely cut half of
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