Even she recognized, though, that everyone’s proverbial cup was full of abominations (as she put it) and were hypocrites for having so hastily judged a cousin who’d always been sweet and nice to the rest of us: “Yeah, Freddy,” she confided, “we’re all fucked up with divorces, marriages, crummy jobs, crimes against bill-collectors, kids out of wedlock, drugs, life, death, stuff after death ... but who’s gonna give a shit in a hundred years!”
GETTING THE DIRT FIRST HAND
Cousin Nena at last got in touch with me, and invited me to stay in her lovely, Victorian-style decorated suburban home for the length of my visit in Monterrey. She drove, and showed me about the leather-goods production district, where she had employment as some fancy bill-receiving secretary. We talked much about our lack of regular correspondence considering our sympathetic bond, and easy-going trust in one-another. Oddly enough, we both complained that perhaps the other one did not appreciate the long-letters, and later emails, we sent to each-other, which made the lack of communication all the more apparent: “You thought what you wrote was a lot?” I asked her. “Well, coming from a writer’s point of view, that ain’t shit.”
Anyway, it was fascinating to learn what she really felt about what was being written about her. I only regretted not having communicated with her earlier.
Furthermore, her tale of getting back with “Bozo” after not having seen him in 15 years, I thought this was drama for the ages ~ Her own story proved more intriguing than I had supposed. I even considered writing a whole book centered around her unique experience of life. So, what could I relate about her life to my own? With all that was happening and her erratic behavior, did either she or her ex-husband feel the proverbial “cold weather” coming in, or what? Did my sentimental cousin feel the spark of love, of “Spring-time” again? Was his libido stimulated once more by the sight of her ample bosoms after years of consoling himself (according to Cousin Rosa) with “Rosie Palmer?” No one would dare answer!
In any case, I fully appreciated her righteous indignation against the other cousins. I was already under the false impression that they’d automatically included her in all of their threads, so for a subject as intriguing as this one about cousin Nena, I can imagine just how angry she must have felt.
I admit, I did get copies of the threads all the time from likes of Rosa’s brothers, and even Nena’s sisters, like Theresa and Maribel. Since I received them too, I thought it alright for me to join them, supposing I had something witty to remark upon, much to my regret and consternation.
I had enough troubles right now, however, protecting myself from the local drunks and mendicants as they foisted their crippled children in front of me for a hand-out, spreading their porcine flu germs in the process, to care about my reputation among cousins I was not really familiar with, and today some inspector almost forcibly entered Nena’s house to drop repellent-pellets against the mosquitoes that spread Dengue Fever ~ they were expecting a bad outbreak this coming Summer.
Funny, I thought; hitherto undertaking this trip and what route I would follow, and then coming to this damp and chilly beer-cooler of a region, Dengue Fever, Pig Flu, et cetera, were just names of musical bands that played alternative rock music (you know the type---“rock” music that is little more than screeching, boisterous cacophony, which drug-addicts and pot-smokers find to be mellow and soothing.) But, the house was found to be clean, and no one about was in any imminent danger of catching anything, much to my relief. It would have been something else for my diary had I succumbed to some greasy bug served up by some half-wit stupidity of a man who cared nothing of my plight and vulnerability to these foreign illnesses. As far as some of the intransigent natives were concerned, even if they did not fully understand what was going on within their precious country, the more the merrier! Now, back to the Nena drama, and yes, it was a drama. Her husband had engendered a child with some woman that wanted to marry him, but of course they couldn’t because he was indeed still married to Nena. The latter gave cause to the “sudden” divorce (yeah right, 15 years later). Apparently they were both (sort of) having second thoughts after seeing each other again. You know, I truly believe in following your heart, but I also believe that in situations like this one a person needs to use their head and not let him/herself get carried away with day-dreams that, in Nena’s case, pretty much went up in a puff of smoke (almost literally, considering the marijuana meditations upon which they had based their marital vows) many years ago. More than anything, observers were left to ask themselves: why did it take “Bozo” so many years to contact Nena? If he had always kept the flame burning for her, could one not think that he would have tried to get in touch with her sooner?
Well, that was my brush with “embarrassing relations” for the moment. Nena and her family were very courteous with, and made me feel like a true-blue Mexican whilst savoring the local delicacies and cultural activities, which included a couple of native dances performed by the local Indian tribe, and a parade sponsored by the Monterrey beer brewers in order to stimulate public pride in their sweetly palatable product. My relatives would always make me feel welcome in either case because that is how they felt about family relations. All that I had to do was contact my cousins and introduce myself as “hijo de Tio Pancho”, and would be so sure that they would love to hear from me personally. In fact, because I was now traveling in Mexico for an indefinite term, there was always the possibility that they could even take advantage of where I happened to be stranded during any given time to rendezvous with me, as it were. That way I would establish my own special relationship with them, free of parental or avuncular interference. They really were all quite engaging and generous in their own way, and, with respect to anecdotes we exchanged regarding the traumas and disappointments served to us by our parents, we certainly had a lot in common!
JESUS CHRIST,
SAVE US FROM THE PIGS!
Woe is me ... woe is pitiful me, or so goes a traditional song well remembered around and about these parts, appropriately titled POBRE DE MI (Poor Little Me). The bus operator played it on his ancient cassette player as the old vehicle trudged towards Queretaro. My goodbyes were brief, and my cousin was wistful about family reminiscences. I just wanted to move on to the next leg of the adventure, though I admit, I enjoyed Monterrey immensely.
Our arrival In Queretaro City was wet with unseasonable precipitation, but it gave me a fine impression anyway. Nonetheless, my enthusiasm for the place was ruined almost at once with the news from Mexico City: The Pig Flu was back! Churches stood empty, masses were precipitously postponed, other Roman Catholic services were deferred until a green light was given indicating that all was safe. Then, local officials advised that health-department flunkies would be screening people suspected of carrying the latest strain of the pig flu in bus stations and airports, and the so-called experts touted that they feared it could spread again, and grow to world-wide epidemic proportions.
The recriminations would begin once more. President Felipe Calderon, it was announced worriedly, had assumed “special” powers to separate the sad dolts infected with the fatal flu strain that Mexico’s health minister said had felled almost ninety persons, and had likely attacked nearly 1500 throughout the 32 states by the time I arrived in Queretaro. I just couldn’t describe to my own diary the attitude of je ne sais quoi that afflicted many Mexicans.
Mayors all over the surrounding states complained that the ministries of Health and Disease Control did not advise them in time about the confirmed cases, so now they were afraid the public school students were the most dangerous purveyors of the sickness.
Well fantastic! Now I had to guard myself from the pimple-ridden punks who were more guilty of noise pollution than anything else. Mexican officials previously had whined that there were dozens of “probable” cases amongst the high-school student bodies themselves, but tests later confirmed that it was swine flu. In Queretaro the Mayor’s office stressed that the incidents were mild, and many of the
young folks were recovering.
So, I informed my diary, whilst I was looking about for an easier way to sneak out of the state for my next stop, be it Zacatecas or Veracruz, hundreds of people just hanging around the Auberge (hostel) I was staying at had come down with the symptoms, and this would be the closest I would come to being overwhelmed by a mass infection. Later, I learned that many older students played it smart and took off for Cancun, or Acapulco with their friends for a protracted spring break romp. No one, as far as I know, had reported the pig germs in, or had reached the Caribbean coast, but I suspected the Flu Virus itself didn’t want to compete for victims that rightly belonged to Dengue Fever. Yes, viruses are very jealous of their own turf!
In Mexico City itself, or so the news agencies reported, soldiers and health workers kept a vigilant watch on the capital’s subway system throughout the week-end, giving out surgical masks and rooting out possible flu cases in the process. Citizens were asked to get medical help should they come down with multiple symptoms. Speaking of, there were moments when I thought, and felt, I had a fever of more than 100 degrees, a sore throat, body aches, respiratory congestion, the dreaded uncontrollable coughing, and, with due respect to the local cuisine, puking and the squirts (as Billy colorfully described vomiting and diarrhea in his weekly e-mail, and from which he now suffered).
Hundreds of public events, AGAIN, from concerts to sports matches, were postponed or canceled to keep the stinky masses from congregating, thus spreading the symptoms from within the irresponsible crowds. Zoos were closed, much to my irritation since I enjoy paying a visit to the local animal-park in any town I happen to be passing through, and even family visits to prisons were suspended; if I had been in California during this time, I certainly would have had cause for annoyance since so many of my one-time acquaintances now called jail their home.
Whilst going out to find me some evening grub, I noticed that about a dozen state police in blue surgical masks stood in front of Queretaro’s elegant Churrigueresque Cathedral, which had been emptied of its superstitious devotees after a measure calling off services had been enforced to discourage large concentrations of the faithful, tithes or no tithes. While I crossed the street to ask one of the police-men if he knew when they would open it again, a young woman in her twenties (I think) interrupted, and complained that she had arrived for her confirmation only to find a sign announcing that all Masses, baptisms, and confirmations were canceled until further notice. Her subsequent bawling was enough of an incentive for me to get the Hell out of there.
The last thing she cried before I re-crossed the street was, “We are all faithful Catholics ... this is an awful thing you do, closing the cathedral.” She went on bawling while cradling her squirming brat in her arms, “This god-forsaken flu must be bad. But what will I do? I don’t know if I can return any time soon?” ~ well deary, I thought to myself, the cooties are the cooties, and there wouldn’t be any fiddling with even the local drunkard’s health; actually, the town boozers were the least in danger since all of those alcoholic beverages they consumed actually protected them from infection. Huh! who would’ve known that cheap whiskey was the best defense against pig cooties. Live and learn, eh?
And so, as the hours ticked by, the markets and restaurants were left devoid of patrons; throngs of Mexicans, some with just a fever, rushed to the by-now congested hospitals, and I felt like I had the whole city to myself.
Queretaro, like most of Mexico’s big cities by now, appeared to have lost valuable work days in discovering the, as of yet, newest flu strain, and humans may have no natural immunity to it. Health officials at the federal level had found cases in 16 Mexican states, including Queretaro. What a shame, and it is such a nice state too. But, just since I’ve been here, perhaps three dozen new suspected cases had been reported on that previous Saturday alone.
Regarding the state of the epidemic in other states, the first death was reported in southern Oaxaca State by late March, but the federal officials didn’t do anything about it, or appeal to international agencies, like the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, until several days later, which was around the same time they’d sent trained teams to hospitals all over the country to root out victims with severe symptoms. Accordingly, they were said to have noticed something odd: the combined flu strain was knocking out mostly people under forty years of age. Flu victims, everybody knows, are usually either infants, the aged, or hard-core stoners, like Billy once had been. Yet, once again, one needs only to remind oneself of the Spanish flu pandemic after World War I: plenty of young adults had perished then, and now history was repeating itself, except that now pigs eaten by Spanish-speakers were getting the blame.
Once again I fiddled with my diary, and twiddled my thumbs while wondering what next could happen. The government health agency would soon ask all townships and cities to step up their spying and rat on suspicious sorts, as airports around the country were screening travelers from everywhere for any symptoms.
On Sunday, Mexico City radio broadcasts reported that a dozen students “likely” had the swine flu after a school trip to Guadalajara, though the Health Ministry reported that none of the youngsters was seriously ill, and there was no guarantee they had the damned flu. This was a surprise; I had always known that people from the Capital regarded people from Guadalajara as a bunch of pigs, but never figured they’d blame them for the disease!
As far as Guadalajara’s Health agency was concerned, there was only one or two suspected cases in their region, and the rest of the state of Jalisco was checking out reports of five more possible cases.
With the police harassing me that I could not leave the immediate precincts, I insisted they let me talk to the person-in-charge of the growing quarantine, and she said that the outbreak of the never-before-seen virus had “pandemic potential.” I asked her then to tell me something I didn’t know. But, she said, it was still too early to give the alarm if it would become a pandemic.
Damn it! Now what? Where was I to turn? There was no Billy or Angelina around to bail me out, so what the Hell was I to do?
These people had already issued calls for isolating the sick, and blanketing anyone around them with anti-viral drugs such as the ever reliable Tami-Flu; I still had a neat supply I had brought with me from Chihuahua. Too many of the afflicted had been identified in and around Queretaro for such a solution now. The pandemic flu experts, however, said it was also too late to contain the disease to Mexico and the United States.
Therefore, now I would be stuck here due to politics, and that is all it was, just stinking politics. The average crowds didn’t betray any palpable signs of panic, so what the Hell was going on with these imbecilic experts? Why were they fanning the flames of alarm?
Regardless of their real motives, the local authorities ordered schools closed in their state clear through the first week of May.
Then, teams from the Center for Disease Control were in lurking about spying and ratting, but ostensibly to assist in setting up detection testing for the pig flu, something that the officials forgot to do the first time around.
Nevertheless, the number of cases continued to grow, and the local big-wigs were scared over a reported threefold spike in the number of victims by the beginning of Spring, but then tried to convince themselves that it was a late rebound in the December-February flu season. And, testing at domestic labs did not warn doctors of the causes for the latest outbreak. Even though just about everybody had known about it, Mexican big-wigs continued to refer to the outbreak as a “late-season flu.”
New virus or old, I was going to “outbreak” with rage. There was nothing I could do to avoid all the proverbial red-tape. By Thursday of that week, I was beginning to feel a serious case of “the blues.”
I thought to reflect on all that was happening, and asked myself: why in the Hell were there so many deaths in Mexico, and, so far, none to be reported in America? Was it really a case for lack of immunity that felled the adults? Would I be next
? I mean, I had already come into close contact with infected people, so when would the symptoms of complete infection be manifest? At least in America the cases mostly involved children, so they might have a chance to get over it. This strain that affected adults was something scary all-together. Frankly, I think that the fatalities were due to negligence on the part of the victims; each one just ignored the symptoms, and thought to cure themselves with traditional Mexican remedies ~ hot cinnamon tea, a ripe lemon to suck on, and a shot of tequila.
I finally got around to wearing the confounded blue surgical mask the health-worker gave me the previous weekend, especially since I could not be sure that I was secure against infection even with the Tami-flu. More and more signs that things were returning to normal were about; street-workers sweeping up garbage, public-transportation drivers giving the average folk a hard time as usual, and local merchants giving everybody some of their bad attitude was practically a cause for rejoicing.
The chill air must’ve been doing me harm, I thought. I should have just stayed in my hostel room, but I was restless, and had to go to an ATM in any case; I was hungry, and did not have pesos enough in my pocket for even a bean and cheese taco.
What most locals had been complaining about was the lack of access to a proper vaccination. If the government had decided that vaccine production was necessary ahead of time, manufacturers would have needed seed-stock to get started, but they didn’t do it, and now every healthy adult was screwed, and just had to take their chances out in the open should they opt to return to work or school.
A Wetback in Reverse Page 5
