Playing for the Devil's Fire

by Phillippe Diederich

  “Joaquín’s a compadre of Francisco. He’s nice enough.”

  “He’s the same guy from Pineda’s office, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. And he said he would help us find what happened to Mamá and Papá.”

  “Yeah, right. And what has he done?”

  “Please, Liberio. Stop it.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to disappear or end up like Rocío Morales.”

  She turned and looked at me the way my mother used to look at me whenever I did something that made her proud. “Ay, Liberio. I won’t.”

  “You promise?”

  She smiled. “I promise.”

  After Gaby left, I went to check in on my abuela. She was sitting in her rocking chair, staring at the window.

  “Abuelita. Do you need anything?”

  She shook her head. “We’re fine. Gracias. We have everything we need. We have had hurricanes come through before. We will endure this one as well.”

  I sat on her bed. She had already unpacked her bags. The photo of my father and mother from before they were married was back on her mantle. In the photo, they were sitting, leaning against each other at a restaurant. They looked happy, their heads touching. Maybe that was what my abuela liked to do, remember the good old days, which to me didn’t seem so long ago. Perhaps one day I would look back on my life and remember the years that came before this when I was with my parents. And those would be the good old days.

  I lay back and closed my eyes and imagined my good old days. My parents would drive us out to Las Truchas where we ran in the fields and fished and ate trout in one of the open restaurants. We’d go to the movies or a concert in Coyuca del Río. And vacations. In the good old days, I used to hike El Cerro de la Soledad with my father. We’d be gone all day. He’d point out plants, telling me which ones were good and which ones were bad. He’d tell me stories about Izayoc and how the Indians believed the cliffs around the town had been formed after two gods in the form of giant jaguars battled for the love of a princess. Both gods died in the fight and the princess was left alone to cry for a thousand years. Her tears formed the Lágrimas River that runs by Coyuca del Río. One of its tributaries cuts at the bottom of the cliffs around Izayoc. This was how the town got its name. My father said that in Nahua mythology, jaguars could be both gods and devils. I always wanted to see a jaguar, but we never did. We saw hawks, doves and a lot of tiny songbirds.

  We’d pick wildflowers for my mother who existed in different memories of my good old days. It was as if my memories had different rooms where they were kept. In my mother’s room of memories, she used to walk me to school when I was little. She would take Gaby and me on her errands at the market or to buy supplies for school projects. We ate popsicles in the plaza on hot days and sang songs together. She loved to sing. We played guessing games and told each other mathematical riddles. We watched Sábado Gigante together. My mother. She was always close. If I reached out, my hand would find hers and she would always smile. But now it was all an empty room. Instead of a window, all I could see was a big black vulture eating away at my memories.

  When Abuela went to bed, Jesusa came home. The two of us sat together on the couch to watch a Santo movie: La venganza de las mujeres vampiro. I had seen it before, but it still scared me a little. I was glad Jesusa was watching with me, although I was pretty sure she was scared too. We sat close together under a blanket. I leaned my head against her shoulder and felt her warmth like the warmth of my mother, and took in her soft clean smell of Nivea.

  What scared me most about the movie was how Mayra the Vampiress looked before they gave her the blood transfusion that made her young again. Then she tells her gang of vampires that they have to destroy every enemy that gets in their way. The movie had an interesting fight where Santo is wrestling in the arena, and Mayra hypnotizes him and orders him to lose the fight. In the end, he actually wrestles like a rudo. Later, Santo tells the lieutenant that vampires do exist. In the next scenes when the dead start to rise, it made me think of the nightmares I sometimes have—I’m alone and whatever is chasing me is unstoppable and my legs can’t move me fast enough.

  Near the end, just as Santo began to make his way into the castle, Chapo barked. Jesusa and I jumped. There was a loud thud against the gate. Then a hard knock.

  We looked at each other. I turned down the volume on the TV. Chapo quit barking and made whiny noises. Jesusa unlocked the front door. We peeked into the front patio. Chapo was wagging his tail and sniffing at the gate.

  “Who is it?” Jesusa called.

  There was another hard knock. Toc, toc! The hardware on the gate shook. Chapo stepped back and barked.

  “Who is it?” Jesusa called again.

  “Me.” It was a man’s voice.

  “Me who?” Jesusa said.

  “Me, cabrones. Chicano!”

  I shoved past Jesusa, but she grabbed my arm. “What are you doing, Liberio?”

  “It’s okay. It’s Chicano. I know him.”

  I opened the gate. Chicano’s large frame staggered past me to the front door. He leaned on Jesusa’s tiny body. Then he pushed himself away and stumbled inside and dropped on the couch.

  “What happened?”

  He waved a shaky finger at me. “I couldn’t find it.”

  “He’s drunk!” Jesusa said.

  “He needs help.”

  “No, Liberio. I don’t like it.”

  “He needs us,” I said. “And we need him.”

  She stared at his mask, his tights. “Does Gaby know about him?”

  Chicano turned on his side and glanced at the TV. “I’ve seen this one. With the vampires, no? I love that first go-go dancer they kill. She’s so beautiful.”

  Jesusa moved closer to Chicano. She felt the material of his cape between her fingers. “Where are we going to put him, pues?”

  “¿Qué hubo, chiquita?” Chicano reached for her.

  Jesusa slapped his hand and jumped back. “He stinks!”

  “Come on,” I said and took his arm. “In the shed.” I pulled him up. He stumbled and almost squished me with his weight.

  Jesusa took his other arm and pulled him off me. She placed his arm over her shoulder and we helped him out to the shed.

  “This is nice.” His words rolled out of his mouth like marbles. He lay on his back and looked at us with red, drunken eyes. “Now all I need is a woman.”

  19.

  Mosca and I were walking by the plaza after school when Father Gregorio waved at us from the steps of the church. Neither of us wanted to talk to him, but there was no getting away.

  He placed his hands on our shoulders like he always did. “How are you, niños?”

  “Fine, Father,” I said.

  Mosca looked away. He couldn’t care less about Father Gregorio, the church and God.

  “School’s out already?”

  I nodded. “We’re going to the panadería. Gaby’s expecting us.”

  “How is she holding up?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  He looked past me toward the municipal building. “You should come to confession.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been good since the last time.”

  “Liberio?”

  “I swear.”

  “Don’t swear.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I really think you ought to come in and confess.”

  “Can I come tomorrow? Gaby’s expecting me. For real, Father.”

  “Give him a break,” Mosca said. “He needs a little time to sin, no?”

  “Don’t get smart, Esteban. And you,” he said, looking at me, “come and do a little confessing. You need it more than you realize.”

  Mosca grinned. “Go ahead, Boli. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  The bench of the confessional creaked when I sat. I hated the little dark room. It was like a coffin, and it smelled weird, kind of like the mothballs in my grandmother’s closet. I also didn’t want Father Grego
rio staring at me, smiling his pity-smile. I crossed myself. “Forgive me Father for I have sinned.”

  “It’s okay,” Father Gregorio whispered. “You don’t have to confess. I only wanted to speak to you in private.”

  “Is it about my parents?”

  “Unfortunately, I have found very little. But I discovered they never made it to Toluca in the first place. So whatever happened to them, happened between here and there. It also gives us a timeframe to work with. Whatever happened must have happened between six and ten in the morning on the day they left.”

  “Does Pineda know this?”

  “Captain Pineda told me he has not been able to find any leads. But I’ve made my own inquiries. The Archdioceses in Mexico City has agreed to lend their support. I also spread the word among the churches in the vicinity. Your parents didn’t just vanish.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. You think they’re still alive?”

  “I am not sure what I believe, Liberio. We have to be very careful about how we proceed.”

  “Because of those people?”

  “No. But it is best to be discreet.”

  “I’ve seen their guns, Father. I swear. And this guy, Joaquín—”

  “Don’t swear, Liberio.”

  “But it’s true. I don’t trust them. At the feria I saw Joaquín—”

  “These families were forced to flee their homes to get away from the violence in their own state, Liberio. The people of Michoacán are facing a horrific situation. Have some empathy. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “So they’re not—”

  “Captain Pineda said he checked them out.”

  “El profe always warned us of what the new highway might bring.”

  “Progress is not to blame,” he said. “Tell me, have you heard anything in the streets?”

  “Nothing.” I stared at the pattern of the wooden grate that separated us. I couldn’t make out Father Gregorio, but in the low light my imagination played tricks. I saw a face that kept changing. Sometimes it looked like Father Gregorio, sometimes like my father. Sometimes like the man in the truck outside La Gloria. “People are scared. They’re suspicious of everyone. And Gaby’s dating one of them, Francisco…I don’t know his last name.”

  “This town has always been insular. When I arrived from Mexico City, I faced the same resistance. We must learn to temper our fear of outsiders. Your own father told me about the difficulties he faced when he first came to Izayoc. And if I remember correctly, your grandparents were not welcome here either. With the new highway, there will be more visitors. The sooner we get used to it, the better.”

  “What about my parents?”

  “I really don’t know, hijo.”

  I hadn’t expected Father Gregorio to help. But I still wasn’t sure about him. He was getting really cozy with the new people. But if he was reaching out to the other priests… My voice quivered. “I don’t want them to be dead.”

  “It’s in God’s hands. Trust Him.”

  When I left, a group of workmen with shovels and carpentry tools were arriving at the church. I walked toward the panadería. Then I noticed a crowd of children in their school uniforms across the street. At the center was a bright red circle like a giant Christmas bulb. Chicano.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “What are you, my boss?”

  The kids touched his cape and his dirty tights. They reached for his mask and offered him their notebooks and pens, begging for autographs.

  “I was only asking because if you’re staying, I need to tell Jesusa to make enough for dinner.”

  Chicano signed an autograph and then waved the kids away. “Go on now. I’ll catch up with you cachorritos later on, okay? Come on. Ándenle.”

  Then he looked at me. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I was just talking to Father Gregorio about my parents. He keeps telling me not to jump to conclusions.”

  Chicano rubbed his chin and around the stitching at the opening of the mouth. “That’s always good advice.”

  We started toward the panadería. “I thought you were going to Querétaro.”

  “I was.” He waved. “But the event got postponed. The syndicate of the arena is in dispute with the organizers. Money. You know how it is. I figure I might just as well stay here for a week or two. Then I can go straight to Monterrey.”

  “For real?”

  He nodded and placed his heavy hand on my back. “But we need to strategize. We can’t just go at this without a plan. We should go check out your sister at the bakery. Find out what she knows. And maybe talk to that other girl Ximena.”

  “That’s great. Thank you, Chicano!”

  “But let’s be clear on something, I’m a luchador, not a superhero. I don’t believe all the shit in the Santo movies.”

  “Ay, Chicano. I know it’s not real. But you can’t tell me they’re not fun.”

  “I suppose. But I just want that out in the open.”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t make you any less strong or brave. Here everyone’s afraid of their own shadow.”

  “Well, we’ll see what we can do.” He ruffled my hair, and we turned on Calle Juan Escutia. That’s when we saw Mosca. He was running toward us with Junior and a couple other guys from school.

  “Boli!” he called. “Come on, let’s go.”

  We met at the corner. They were out of breath, excited. They studied Chicano up and down.

  “He’s staying with me,” I said. “We’re going to find out what happened to my parents.”

  “We’re going to try,” Chicano added.

  “Well, you better come with us,” Mosca said. “They say there’s a couple of people hanging from the pedestrian overpass.”

  My parents. My dead parents hanging like laundry from the overpass. “Did you see them?” My voice trembled at a high pitch like a girl. “Did you recognize them?”

  “No. We’re on our way now. Come on.”

  We ran up Avenida Porvenir, my legs pushing me forward faster than I’d ever run. All I could think of was my mother, my father, ropes around their necks, dead. My legs were like electric wires. I was flying ahead of everyone. My chest was burning.

  After a few blocks, I looked back. Chicano had slowed down.

  “Come on,” I said, “hurry!”

  He waved me on. “I’ll catch up.” Then he stopped and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.

  We rushed between the food stalls by the side of the old highway and pushed through the big crowd that had gathered at the foot of the overpass. There were people on both sides of the highway. I stopped. Two men hung from the bridge, one beside the other. But they weren’t hanging from their necks. They hung from a foot, their heads at the bottom so they looked like a pair of tilted Ys. And they were naked. The bridge itself was deserted except for a dozen vultures waiting at both ends. A dozen more circled the sky.

  They were not my parents.

  A couple of cars sped past on the highway. And then silence.

  Mosca tilted his head as if trying to look straight at the cadavers. Their faces and bodies were swollen out of proportion. Mosca shook his head. “Why won’t anyone bring them down?”

  “You think they’re dead for sure?” Junior asked.

  “Of course they’re dead,” Chicano said. “You can’t be deader than that. Where’s the police?” He grabbed an old woman by the arm. “How long have they been like this?”

  The woman flapped her hands. “Since this morning, I think.”

  “Did you see who did this?”

  She shook her head. Then she tore from his grip and pushed her way through the crowd and disappeared into the maze of stalls.

  “Did anyone see anything?” Chicano said in a loud voice.

  People stared at him. No one spoke. Another vulture landed on the overpass.

  “You have to do something,” I said.

  Chicano looked at me. “Me?”

  “There�
��s no one else. This is why you stayed, no?”

  “I’m sorry, hijín, but this one’s for the authorities.”

  “We don’t have any,” Mosca said.

  “Take them down, Chicano. Come on,” I said.

  “No, not me.” He shook his head and took a couple of steps back, away from the bridge.

  “Don’t be like that, Chicano.” The people around us heard me say it. Everyone stared at him, waiting. I could see the pleading in their eyes. We all needed someone to take charge, to do something.

  “I suppose,” he said. “But it’s not my place. Where are the fucking authorities?”

  “Sleeping,” Mosca said. Then he turned to me. “Maybe you and I can take them down, no Boli?”

  “They’re someone’s relatives. Maybe someone’s father, someone’s son.” I kept thinking of my parents. The whole run to the bridge I had been thinking of them, praying it wasn’t them hanging like piñatas. Now I was relieved it wasn’t them, but I also felt guilty. No matter who it was, it was always someone’s parents, someone’s children. And the way they were hanging, with their legs open, it was gross. Disgraceful. It was the same with Rocío’s dead naked body, and even with el profe. It wasn’t just murder, it was so much more. It was grotesque, humiliating. It angered me more than death.

  “Go,” I cried and pushed Chicano. “Take them down. You have to. No one else is going to do it.”

  He looked at me. He looked over the crowd. Another vulture floated past and landed near the middle of the bridge, closer to the bodies.

  Finally Chicano nodded. He took a deep breath and adjusted the eyeholes of his mask. The crowd parted and he marched up the steps. The vultures on our side of the overpass skipped away and then took flight only to land on the other side of the bridge. On the highway, cars and semi-trucks zoomed by, barely slowing down to look.

  Chicano reached the first person. He knelt, grabbed the rope and with his giant strong arms, pulled him up, hand over hand like a sailor. He stood, still holding the rope, and raised the body over the rail. It was a struggle. Then he took the dead man in his arms and laid him gently on the ground.