I had been fighting now for a year to get a new birth certificate apostillated after the damned Mexican consulate had taken mine to give me the worthless “matricula consular,” which is supposed to be the official Mexican national identification card, instead of an extended traveler’s Visa, which was what I wanted to get in the first place. No one, after all this time, NO ONE in this wretched country has recognized it as legitimate. Therefore, because of them I am regarded as no better than an illegal “wetback,” and have been treated as such by all government agencies and most commercial enterprises; this might be great stuff for my new journal, but for a real life adventure I was left desolate and lost amid the hostile environs of a people that have forsaken my destiny as I have repudiated my heritage of it.
Like I explained to Corazon, the damned responses I’d get from the Consulate, after all these months, were entirely negative. To re-establish my legal status, I would again have to present proof of my identity, namely an apostillated birth certificate, which they had taken from me and for which they never compensated me. The cherry on the cake of audacity was that they insisted I pay them what amounted to a bribe, but they are not to blame; one cannot blame a rat for being a rat. This is all my stupid brother’s fault; for his negligence, stupidity, and willful sabotage I cannot re-establish my identity until I cough up more money. This may just be a detail, but it’s details like this that grind into one’s conscience as well as cause one unending frustration with the Federales. They have torn away at the fabric of my existence, leaving me to face legal and political oblivion until I get back, and that will prove more difficult than I’d supposed. I cannot do it quietly. I will have to pay the bribe!
In the meantime, the July elections had come and gone. The ruling conservative PAN party had lost seats in state houses and the national legislature. The losses of the socialist PRD left them irrelevant, but the lately disgraced PRI party, which had wielded dictatorial rule over the country for seventy years before being toppled by the PAN, made impressive gains by winning control of the Chamber of Deputies and Senate, and numerous governorships. They wouldn’t take office for a few months, but already I could feel that the shift in power would adversely affect me because in past decades the PRI governments were notorious for their unwieldy and stifling bureaucracies. Many disaffected voters feared aloud that official functions would grind to a halt, that the government would atavistically revert to its former ponderous inefficiency, making it very miserable for fools like me to get any justice or consular services from them. This PRI victory truly spelled DOOM for my quest. I had to move fast!
Stepping in like the angel that she is, Corazon had called some acquaintances working in the Secretariat de Gobernacion’ who owed her a few favors, and told them about my sorry case. What would have taken months if I had proceeded on my own, my friend was able to do in a couple of days and procured domestic transit passes for me. This tremendous favor she had done eliminated the hassle of presenting an identification to the inter-state inspectors that periodically boarded commercial long-distance buses. What a load off of my mind! I was squirming and sweating till the last moment when my sweet friend presented me with the truly delightful surprise. Yet, all I could do for her in response was to thank her sincerely and give her an extra special hug, “Thanks for letting your friends in Gobernacion’ know about my case. Without the transit passes you got for me I would be stuck here without an umbrella, as it were. Too bad I couldn’t be convinced to stay longer, but I have a purpose to fulfill and couldn’t wait around till things are happier. Oh well, I didn’t expect otherwise.”
I was truly curious to see how her demeanor would change now that she’d resolved to go to America. I was curious to see how Mexico was outside of the capital since the last flu alert. Even if it took a year to get back to California, it would be a very short time in view of the bullshit I’d endured thus far to accomplish my purpose. It makes it so ironic that if and when I do leave, it will be due in no small part to the dirty double dealings with corrupt officials I’d been reduced to, as well as the incompetence of the Jurado that put the damn embargada on me in the first place. I would nonetheless think of Corazon a great many times once I’d departed for Colima. I couldn’t have done anything without her. She was the first to send advance warning about taking care to cover my face from people. This influenza epidemic had become more than a national emergency. It seemed to have stunted the growth of the whole country!
Another thing before leaving, Corazon confided that she’d finally contacted Becky. That was great! Old bonds were re-affirmed, and each exchanged sound advice regarding their mutual desires; Becky to start a new life for her family, and Corazon to move with hers to America. Strange, I thought, how life had brought us together during a time of indecision, and a time when we’d resolved to redefine ourselves for an uncertain future.
In fact, after we’d graduated from college and parted ways, I had returned to America while they maintained contact and helped each other to settle down. Corazon and I conversed about this just before leaving. I kind of suspected that Becky was still special to her, but didn’t know that she had maintained such a great influence on her.
Since both were now mothers with children, naturally they would feel human nature more keenly than most of us do. I could say with out worry of contradiction that people generally recall with the sincerest and tenderest fondness those people that delighted and made them feel special as youngsters, just as it had been between Corazon and the children of Pablo and Carlos. She confessed that the hardest part about the feud with Carlos and her decision to leave Mexico City was becoming alienated from her nieces and nephews. I tried to re-assure her that if indeed she had shown them off to her friends and made them feel like part of the gang, I was so positive that they would always harbor the most affectionate feelings for her that probably superseded their love for their acquisitive father. The fact that Alejandra wrote that essay listing her as a role model said it all. People just don’t forget about those things, unless something really terrible happens between them. Most likely she still felt that way about her.
As for her wanting to go to the USA, I did say to her that no one and nothing should limit her ambitions or actions. “Who cares if you like it too much and want to stay!” I assured her. “You’ll never abandon your feelings for Mexico anymore than you would your own children, so I think your worry is spurious, and with your pretty looks and personality, you could easily take care of yourself. Even if you have to dance on tables at some tittie-bar, you’ll make a lot of money, right?”
Corazon laughed, and socked me in the arm.
I had occasion to meet some of these characters before heading for the bus station, if only in passing. They all bore the trademark prettiness of the Trebiani family, which made the reality of the family feud all the more lamentable. It was interesting to note that she once had such close ties to her sisters as well, and, I must say, after I’d met them I thought they were quite lovely; it is also funny that Carlos boorishly marginalized them, despite their worship of him. Little could I guess what she told me about Carlos’s relationship with his progeny by Rosario, that he indeed treats Nancy and Nathan like step-children! That Carlos has survived all these years doing what he wants is a genuine rompe-cabezas (puzzle), yet he has all the markings and attributes of a real psychopath. Her sisters should consider denouncing him to the medical authorities, and have him interred in an asylum.
About Sergio? I did find him to be a curious character. He was nice and all that, but mysterious, too quiet even. My own opinion of him had been prejudiced by her brother Andres’, of all people, who’d related some disgusting rumors about him long before I made his acquaintance, so I couldn’t vouch for their accuracy. One rumor about Sergio had something to do with his alleged attempt to stick his erect penis into a cousin of his, the son of Corazon’s brother Andres’. I heard other versions, that it was the other way around. I doubt the whole thing, and yet I don’t. If it so happened i
n either case, it was because he was trying to imitate something he’d seen in his father’s bedroom, according to Corazon. He was only nine at the time, but she doesn’t know the related circumstances for certain.
“I sometimes do not pay attention to chismes (rumors) that I feel are exaggerations.” she told me. “If it was true, I don’t know what anybody could have done to prevent it.”
In any case, the silly rumor has dogged him and marred his relationship with his father to the present day. Indeed, I hope all the allegations are false, otherwise I am surprised that more hasn’t been said or done about his unique case. When I finally got to know him, I thought he was a decent, friendly fellow who obviously feels lonely and misses his mother a lot ~ assuming, of course, that he loved her.
As for Corazon, I cannot see how she could keep so much love for so many people. I have enough trouble just loving one person, and right now I don’t know that I feel love for anybody. Oh sure, I do feel affection, fondness, great or small respect, and even admiration for certain people, but I can’t say that it translates into “love.” Take this for example, love is supposed to bear all things, gives you the courage to lay your life down for the person(s) you love. I don’t think I could do that for anyone, not even, or especially, my family.
I am not doubting, of course, my friend’s capacity for love by writing all this. It is just that I find it hard to believe that anyone can love so many people. But, I shouldn’t talk; after all, since I have been deprived of love, it is understandable for me to feel like this.
I did tell her brother about my emergency. I had spoken to him on the phone the other day, and we would meet the next day for lunch to say goodbye. Yes, I did try to bribe Corazon one more time into coming with us, but she said she honestly needed to start pulling down her house, as she put it. I did understand that.
The accusal that Corazon has too much love is insensible. I think her filial passion is normal. I think the tender influence of Grandma Ramona and of her mother was an inestimable blessing. Regardless of what everyone said about him, her father was a great and loving father to her. Her Grandma Ramona was always nice and attentive to a fault. Corazon’s brothers and sisters took sound and sincere care of her, and although they are not perfect and she complains about shit they do now that she is not willing to put up with any more, she had a very good upbringing. As for my not being able to love someone, could that be a defense mechanism? The example of many taught me to be afraid. In view of Corazon’s explanation, maybe I am just trying to shield myself from getting hurt.
She makes a good point.
And now I was off for Colima!
UNDER THE VOLCANO OF FIRE
Dawn broke with a piecing vengeance. I was off to Colima for no good purpose that I could readily explain. Suffice it to say, going there just formed part of my desire to see and experience the most I could of Mexico. It would be a side-trip before entering Jalisco, and heading straight for Tepatitlan. In this city, I could find out more about Fulgencio and the roles his mother’s family background and personal past could play in realizing my genealogical quest.
The bus ride was a bit uncomfortable, and the other passengers were disaffected towards one another and indifferent to the local surroundings. I disembarked already feeling wistful and introspective about Mexico City, not to mention Corazon and all of her troubles.
For such a small state Colima surely had many municipalities, which proved to be a bother because the bus-operator was stopped at the border of each one, and the vehicle inspected for possible narco-trafficking, and, of course, for possible carriers of the damned pig flu. These municipalities could be best compared to Counties in the United States, in that they have their own government, police, and civil services. We’d soon find out they also hold their own cultural traditions which culminate in creating the state’s unique culture. Each has its own songs, dances, clothes and traditional foods. While exploring the local landmarks we partook of the Jamaica, or Summer Festival, which takes place in the towns of Colima, Manzanillo and Cuyutlan. The only thing I’ll remember of the latter, which is a gray and sandy beach-town found in the municipality of Armeria, was that I was attacked by small, roving crabs (not of the genital type).
The area wreaks of Tarascan Indian customs, but their living purveyors charged tourists at tourists prices for their artifacts and other native wares like any self-respecting money-grubbing vendor.
I took a tour of a famous volcano in the area called the Volcan’ de Colima, also known as the Volcano de Fuego (of Fire). In fact, half of the time I didn’t know if I was in Colima or in neighboring Jalisco because half of the volcano is in Jalisco which, the resentful Tarascans asseverated, has been taking over more and more Colimense territory since the states were divided. This was one argument I did not want to touch with a ten-foot tamale!
I hadn’t been touring around more than two days trying to absorb as much of the local atmosphere as I could when the porcine flu issue cropped up again. Once again Mexico’s high schools and universities opened for the first time in several weeks. The big-wigs ascertained that the porcine flu break-out was again on the decline, but I gauged the Colimense attitude, and they were as worried about it as ever. Just in Manzanillo alone, a most congenial spot that reminded me of Zihuatanejo and Puerto Vallarta, I could see that students were being checked as they entered the grounds of their local schools for the flu symptoms, and some were obviously hostile about being sent home.
In other places, like dance halls, movie theaters and bars, it was clear that they had no trouble operating and attracting customers so I had little to fear, and that’s the only thing that mattered. I could attend pro-soccer matches with other fans the following weekend once the officially mandated curfews, which did not curb in the least the spread of the virus, had been lifted. I did find it somewhat irksome that businesses were still required to screen for any suspicious characters along with their own workers for any signs of sickness, and practically rammed those inconvenient surgical masks down our mouths!
It was only more of the same old crap that nobody noticed anymore than I cared to worry about coming down with symptoms.
I did find it curious that that the Secretariat of Public Education displayed signs all over the town calling on local citizens to show “strength of spirit,” whilst encouraging people to emerge from their holes and allow their children to go back to school. I think television and radio broadcasts would have done a better job since most people seemed to ignore the silly, bright yellow signs; an unfortunate choice of color since passersby noticed it before troubling themselves to read the warning. Thus, despite efforts, no one was really assuaged of their worries, only disgusted with the whole thing a little bit more than they had been.
Laughing and joking, high school students gathered at the entrance of the local clinic, and had waited there for about twenty minutes only to have several of their peers display symptoms of the flu, including nasal congestion and coughing. Naturally, the authorities there made a big stink about it, and scared the Manzanillo populace all over again. Parents were notified, ambulances showed up, the police harangued the bystanders, and it made for a pretty deplorable spectacle. I tried to enjoy myself despite the circumstances. I was also waiting for word from Corazon, to whom I had forwarded my contact information and cell-phone number. Meanwhile, everyone was being observed by the police and other uniformed civil workers, making many of us rather uncomfortable with all of their staring. The officials, afraid of popular backlashes, just couldn’t accept that the sickness was still around, despite their unceasing exhortations that the people be careful with their contacts.
After a few hours of checking out the local Manzanillo sights, I received a text message from Corazon: apparently the virus had picked up steam in Mexico City and more deaths from it had been confirmed. Worse yet, she informed me that brother Andres’s condition had taken a turn for the worse. He seemed so healthy that afternoon of farewell. What could he have neglected to do that wo
rsened his illness? She also informed me that one of Andres’s co-workers had perished from the conflux of symptoms, which confirmed Corazon’s suspicion that her brother had picked up the virus at his place of work.
All states had mobilized to disinfect their schools before re-opening, and Colima was no different. Most importantly, the students did not seem to care, or were unconcerned. The last thing that Mexico needed at the time was a bunch of panicky teenagers on their hands. “I’m not scared. They say it’s getting normal again,” said a 17-year-old boy I’d asked while in transit to his school. “I’m just pleased to be back. I was bored witless all these days, far from my carnales and chavalas (schoolmates and girlfriends).”
Others did seem under the weather to me, and would have exhorted them to return home, at least so that I wouldn’t catch their cooties. The notice about Andres had me really worried, and I’d be wearing the facial mask again.
It was evident that youths at Colima vocational high schools were allowed back with a dollop of liquid sanitizer and the said mask. Anxious to embrace each other again, the lascivious adolescents slobbered over one another, some through the masks.
I still think the danger of the epidemic had been blown out of proportion. The confounded media had exploited the issue so much that now they were seen as the purveyors of the sickness, for sheer exasperating mention of it. Another fellow I’d spoken to said he was all gung ho for getting his mates to take precautions.
A Wetback in Reverse Page 24
