Several months went by, and their mother was busier than she could ever remember. Uno and Dos were two very active toddlers, and strong for their age. They climbed up on the roof at least once a day, played catch with the good china, and every morning was a surprise, as she could never be sure that the furniture would be where it had been the night before. Poor Roja and Blanca now spent most of their time in hiding.
Tres and Quatro still needed constant attention, so it was good that her husband was able to help with the older boys. They would grab onto his arms and they would all three laugh with delight as he hoisted them into the air and swung them back and forth.
"These boys will be fine luchadores one day!" he proclaimed. "Just imagine what a show it will be when they are in the ring with their brothers. Everyone will say that they have never seen anything like it before!"
Their mother started to protest. After all, a boy who was as wise and attuned to the spirit world as her Uno would make a fine priest. Clever Dos could be a professor some day, or perhaps even a doctor. Why would they want to be luchadores? Such a silly, pointless thing...
She was about to say just that, but something stopped the words before they could leave her mouth. Maybe it was the look Roja gave her from beneath the couch, or maybe it was the shock of feeling a baby moving within her womb.
"You know something? I think you may be right," she said, and left the room to finish her preparations for the Dia de los Muertos. "Yes, now that I think about it, I am *sure* you are right.
Fortunately, her husband had just enough presence of mind to move Uno and Dos out of harm's way before he fainted in shock.
Beneath the couch, Roja and Blanca nodded in satisfaction. Things were indeed progressing well.
As you well know, amazing things had happened to her during her other three pregnancies, so she should not be faulted for wondering what strange and wondrous gifts would make themselves known as her fifth child grew within her womb.
She thought about these things as she worked in the bread lines, feeding hungry men whose jobs had disappeared after the great stock market crash. These were long days for her, as she tried to give these men hope along with far too little food.
At home, she told her husband that she was proud of him for looking for work even when it seemed that no work was to be found. She told him that she was proud of the way he did not turn back to the bottle to numb the pain and boredom of those days.
When he was not looking for work, her husband begged and traded for enough lumber and canvas to make her a little pushcart with a red and white striped canopy. He even got Padre Dominguez's permission let her set up shop in front of the cemetery, so she could better sell her charms and potions. He would stay home and do the laundry, for even people who were out of work needed clean clothes. When she learned he had done for her, she kissed him like he had never been kissed before, right there in front of the church for everyone to see.
As the lack of jobs got worse, some rather unsavory young men came in from the south end of town, and went around demanding protection money from shopkeepers. When their leader stopped by her pretty little cart, and smiled at her like a shark, she feared for herself and for her children, but she did not give him any money.
He said he would be back the next day, and the nausea she felt when he left had nothing to do with her pregnancy.
True to his word, the young man with the shark's grin came back the next day, along with his compadres. Much to their surprise, they did not just find one pregnant woman with her pushcart. All the men from the breadline--out of work welders, and bricklayers, and porters, all with muscles and tempers like bulls--were there. So were many women of the neighborhood, women who had come to her over the years for charms and advice, and who took heart from the courage she had always displayed. These women were as strong as their men, after years of doing laundry, scrubbing floors, and toting children on their hips.
Here and there in the welcoming crowd were many children--small and large--with eyes lit with excitement, and pockets full of good sharp rocks for throwing.
After an all-too-short battle and a good, long victory party, she went to bed tired, yet satisfied with the way the day's events had gone.
As she waited to fall asleep, she rested her hand on her belly and marveled at how her husband had become a better, braver man than she had ever dreamed he would be, and how she had come over the years to love and care for the people of her neighborhood as if they were her own family. She felt pride at the way they had so easily taken courage from her to face down those ruffians.
"Some day," she said to her unborn child, "you and your brothers will stand together with that kind of bravery and courage, even though you will face some very hard times. That is why your brothers will need you, and rely on you, even though you are the youngest. You will be their heart--el corazon--mi hijo, for you will be able to give them hope and courage and the ability to stand firm even when things are at their darkest."
Not a single person in all of East Los Angeles was surprised when the boy was named Cinco. Well, it seems that the bishop was surprised, for he stormed all the way from the cathedral to the little neighborhood church to ask Padre Dominguez why a good Catholic child would be given such a name--and not even a name, but a number! And he had done the same thing for the child's four brothers! What had the priest been thinking?
Padre Dominguez quite calmly pointed out that Cinco was a good, Biblical name, as were Uno, Dos, Tres, and Quatro. After all, were not numbers used all throughout the Bible, to mark out chapters and verses?