Burro Genius

by Victor Villaseñor

  But they kept insisting, so I finally agreed, and walked up to the weights, took a few breaths, bent over to grab the bar, expecting it to be so heavy that I couldn’t lift it off the ground at all, but, to my utter shock, the bar and weights went flying up and over my head with ease.

  They added more weight and it ended up that I could do one hundred thirty pounds in an overhead press without dipping my knees at all. My God, I was only a freshman, and already I was one of the strongest guys in high school!

  One cadet told me that maybe I should try out for the wrestling team. I’d never even known that our school had a wrestling team. But I’d always loved wrestling, so I immediately went to sign up.

  At the office, I was told by a senior, who was already on the wrestling team, that they were all filled up. I didn’t understand. He explained to me that they wrestled by weights, and that each weight class was already taken by an experienced wrestler, so I wouldn’t have a chance of making the team. I said I understood, but still I wanted to work out anyway, that it really didn’t matter to me if I made the team or not. Still he didn’t want me, and said that maybe I was strong, as he’d heard I was, but I was too heavy to move with any kind of speed. I wondered if he didn’t want me on the team because I was Mexican or did he really think this? Hell, he didn’t know me. I’d been wrestling calves and goats and pigs all my life. I was lightning-fast.

  “I still want to work out with you guys,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said, “we could use extra meat to practice with.”

  My heart exploded! He hadn’t been very smart to say this to me. Now, I was determined to bust his ass. “Come on, give it to me, God!” I could hear my dad saying that his mother used to say when the going got tough. “This is our chance to move MOUNTAINS!”

  Within a week, I beat that guy who’d called me “extra meat” and had been on the wrestling team for a couple of years. I started running and running, lost fifteen pounds, made the varsity team—not the junior varsity—and won nine out of twelve matches against juniors and seniors, and I was a freshman.

  I forgot all about killing Moses with all this energy and time that I was putting out towards wrestling. I LOVED WRESTLING! And I also made some new friends: Juan Limberopulos from Guadalajara, Mexico; Mick McLeans from North Hollywood; Hawkins, our team captain, from Reno; and Fred Gunther from Temecula, just east of us.

  Our coaches were two Marines from Camp Pendleton, and these guys were fantastic! One almost made it to the Olympic Games. Our sense of balance, we were taught, came first, then came speed, skill, endurance, and strength was last. I worked and worked with all my heart and soul, just as I’d done in the third grade with marbles, then with my rifles and pistol in the last few years.

  When the wrestling season was over, I was feeling pretty good about myself until here came Moses, like right on schedule to make fun of me and get everyone else to laugh at me, too. This day a cadet was found reading a Playboy magazine in class behind his textbook. Moses spotted this and took the magazine away from him. Then Moses showed everyone what the cadet had been looking at: a picture of a nude girl with huge breasts.

  Moses then went around the whole classroom asking each cadet what this picture represented for him. Many of us were so embarrassed that we didn’t want to look at the girl or answer his question, but he kept insisting, and so some cadets finally said sex, while others said Marilyn Monroe. When he came to me, I just shook my head, saying nothing. But he got so mad at me that he finally shoved the magazine in my face.

  “What does this remind you of?” he demanded of me, pushing the nude picture into my eyes. “Or are you one of those others?”

  “Other what?”

  “Others,” he’d said, rolling his eyes to the rest of the class. “Come on, speak up!”

  “She reminds me of a cow who’s had a calf,” I finally said, seeing her huge ballooned breasts. “Or a mother dog or pig who’s just had a litter.”

  The explosion of laughter that broke out from the whole classroom was devastating, and the loudest laugh of all came from Moses, himself.

  “He isn’t even one of those others. He prefers pigs and dogs!”

  The laughter never stopped. Moses had just given my classmates an open license to ridicule me. And when they talked about Marilyn Monroe, I had no idea who they were talking about, and so they said that maybe I was one of those others.

  I got up and walked out of class. This was it. I was going to go home, get my gun, and come back and kill Moses. Moses shouted at me, telling me that I couldn’t walk out of class. I laughed. Couldn’t he get it? I’d already walked out of class, and now I was running down to the beach so I could run along the shore all the way to Cassidy Street, up the bluff, and get home.

  I was in excellent shape, so I knew that no one could catch me once I had a good head start. A lot of guys were faster than me at the Academy, like Mick McLeans, who was on our wrestling team, but only a few had my endurance. I was going to go home to change my clothes, get my gun, put it in one of my schoolbags, then come back to the Academy, find Moses, and walk right up to him and say, “Captain Moses, I need to show you something.” Then I’d drop my bag, whip out my pistol, and gut-shoot him a couple of times. Then when he was down and bleeding, I’d explain to him why he and his type of bully mentality had to die!

  And no one would interfere with me because of the loaded gun in my hand. Also, a part of me didn’t give a shit anymore if I was caught or not. I could now see that my objective wasn’t just to kill Moses and all these other teachers who had abused us, but for everyone in all the whole world to know why.

  This wasn’t going to be a surprise attack. This had to be a cold, premeditated act, completely well planned, just as it had been premeditated and well thought out to torture and beat us Mexican kids, starting in kindergarten, so we’d be a people, a gente, with our heads bowed down to authority forever, thinking we were inferior and worthless. I now realized that this was how you enslaved a people. You didn’t just bring them over in chains from Africa. No, you convinced them that they were inferior, not evolved, subhuman, and then when you took off their shackles, so they could go to work, you’d still have them enslaved and shackled inside of their minds for hundreds of years. And this system of teaching was fine with most Anglo teachers, because in the act of convincing us, los Mexicanos and the Blacks, we were subhuman, they’d also convinced themselves that they were superior!

  Getting home, I was pouring with sweat, having run the whole way, which was about four miles. I tore off my uniform, got into my Levi’s, boots, and Western shirt. I put on my Western hat, got my pistol and holster, and went up to the stables to do a little last-minute fast drawing and shooting. And man, was I ever lightning-fast and accurate, too!

  Then when I felt ready, I decided to go back home and get my hunting knife, which was razor-sharp. This way I could cut Moses’s guts out, after I gut-shot him so that no hospital could save his life. I wanted to make sure that he died a slow, painful death. After that I’d drive over—before the cops came—and do in the playground teacher, and on her, I’d piss in her face as she squirmed in death, and say, “No English, cabrona! Spanish only!” Then, if I still hadn’t gotten caught, I’d drive out to the San Luis Rey Mission and get that priest who’d tortured me.

  I was now sixteen years old, in perfect shape, and had arms of steel. I could do sets of one hundred push-ups with both arms, or sets of forty-five with either arm. And I was an experienced killer. For the last two hunting seasons I’d gone with my father and the Thills to Meeker, Colorado, to hunt mule deer. This last year I’d been so good with my new 30/06 Model 70 Winchester that I’d filled out the tags for almost everyone in our camp, because what most of these he-men hunters really liked to do was drink, play cards, and get away from their wives.

  Six huge bucks, I’d gotten this last year. I was a crack-shot with rifle or pistol, and right now I was going to use a little .22 pistol to do in Moses. I’d use hollow-point bull
ets and split their points in half with my knife for extra quick expansion in gut-shooting him at close range.

  I was at our big gun cabinet, getting my hunting knife and extra ammo, when I heard my mother and dad in a big argument. This kind of screaming I hadn’t heard for quite a while. I put my pistol, rifle, and knife down, and went to see what the commotion was. My two sisters were in the bedroom with my parents, listening to the argument.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Linda.

  “Dr. Hoskins is dying and papa wants mama to go with him to see him.”

  “But why?” I asked. My heart started beat, beat, beating. “He’s the reason that our brother Joseph died,” I said.

  My sister shrugged. “Yes, I know.”

  “Lupe, please,” our father was saying, “it’s been years since Chavaboy’s death, and life goes on. We all need to know how to let go.”

  “MAYBE YOU! But not for me! I still feel it cutting here inside of my heart! Joseph was only sixteen! He had his whole life ahead of him, when this no-good drunk doctor—”

  “Lupe, Lupe, please,” said our father. “The man is dying now. And that article in the paper must have cut his heart in two. We need to find compassion in our hearts and forgive him, Lupe.”

  “NO! NEVER!” screamed our mother. “I hope he BURNS IN HELL!”

  The day before, our local newspaper had reported that Dr. Hoskins was caught drunk on the job at the hospital, and talk had it that dozens of people had died over the years because of his gross incompetence.

  “Lupe,” said our father, “this isn’t just about forgiving him. It’s also a way for us to bring all this anger out of our own bodies that we’ve been carrying in our hearts all these years.”

  “But how dare you say that to me, Salvador! All these years I’ve carried nothing but love in my heart for our dead son!”

  “Yes, but what have you carried for the living, eh?” said my father, then he added, “Tell me, Lupe, how can we expect God to forgive us, if we can’t forgive others.”

  “BUT I’VE NEVER DONE SUCH SEMEJANTE PECADO like this monster did to our son in all of my life! Maybe you, who’ve done so much wrong in your life, can find compassion, BUT NOT ME!” she screamed.

  I was shocked. This was entirely not like my mother, who was usually so compassionate towards all people, and soft-spoken, too. But I was also in total agreement with her.

  Our father closed his eyes in concentration. “Lupe,” he said in a very slow, gentle voice, “Jesus, who was free of sin, they say, He still found it in His corazón to forgive those who crucified Him. To forgive, Lupe, isn’t really for the other person. It is for helping us find peace in our own hearts. I’m going up the hill to see Dr. Hoskins, and you can come with me, if you’d like.”

  “NO, SALVADOR!” screamed our mother. “I forbid you to do this! This is CRIMINAL! He’s going to get his JUST DESERVE AT LAST! Let him now suffer as I’ve suffered all these years! MAY HE BURN IN HELL, is what I say!”

  I wholeheartedly agreed our my mother. Let the damn cards fall where they fell! Let the son of a bitch suffer just like I was going to make Moses suffer when I now drove back to school and called him out. But my father obviously saw the whole situation very differently, and he now picked up his Stetson, and without saying another word, walked out the door.

  My sister Linda ran after him. She’d been following our dad around and trying to act like him for as long as I could remember. When she’d been three or four, she’d ride her tricycle around the front fountain until our father would fall asleep. Then she’d take his cigar and smoke the gigantic thing just like he did as she rode around and around the fountain, talking to the goldfish.

  I stayed behind with my mother and our little sister Teresita.

  “Damn your father!” said our mother, crying. “Why does he have to talk to me like that, trying to make me look like a bad person in front of you kids! Hoskins is finally getting his just deserves! Don’t you see that, mijo?” she said to me. “I’m not a bad person. It’s just that I can’t forgive him in my heart, that would be false!”

  “Yes,” I said. “I can see that, mama, but…well, maybe papa is right. We all need to learn how to let go. Joseph himself, I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to see you still mourning him after all these years. In fact, the last time I was with him, he told me that what was really needed here in the world wasn’t more—”

  “YOU JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE A MOTHER!” my mother screamed at me, full of anger!

  Hearing this, I turned to go. This, I’d heard too many times over the years.

  “Where are you going?” she asked. I kept walking. “I’m talking to you!” she shouted.

  I stopped and took a big breath. “Mama,” I said, turning back around to face her, “I am not going to listen to you tell me one more time that I don’t know what something feels like because I’m not a woman or I’m not a mother.” My heart was pounding. “That’s bully tactics. If you really think I can’t feel that, then don’t bring it up to me. Hell, sometimes I think that you just like all this suffering, so that then you don’t have to go on with your own—”

  I stopped my words. Could this also be what I was doing—using all my rage to avoid going on with my own life? I took a deep breath, said nothing more, and turned to go once again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe to go with papa.”

  “MIJITO, PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS! I BEG YOU!”

  “Mama, I love you,” I said. “But I also kind of, well, got to see what papa is going to do with my own eyes, because, well, maybe even I, myself, would be a lot better off to let go of all the anger I carry, mama.”

  I was shocked at the clarity of the words that had just come out of my mouth. Hell, I’d never had these thoughts. Where had these words come from, and with such utter clarity? This was when I realized that that little quiet humming had started behind my left ear. It had been a long time since this had happened.

  I went out of the house, leaving my little sister Teresita with my mother. I felt sorry for Teresita. In no time at all, I was sure that my mother would have her crying and praying. I got my guns and knife, a bag of ammo, and went outside and got in my brand-new turquoise-colored Chevy pickup, that my dad had gotten for me for my sixteenth birthday, and started down our long driveway.

  Getting to California Street, I stopped. I didn’t know which way to go. Should I drive up the hill to see what my father was going to do, or should I turn right, go down California Street, then take Hill Street south to the Academy and kill Moses?

  I finally put my foot to the gas pedal of my Chevy, deciding to turn left, even though…it was way easier for me to go kill Moses. Instead, I went up the hill to Dr. Hoskins’s place. Moses would still be at the Academy, I figured, after I was through seeing what my dad was up to, then I’d kill him.

  Getting to Dr. Hoskins’s place, I saw our big car parked to the left of his house over by the riding ring. Dr. Hoskins didn’t ride Western. He rode English, or jumping, or some such stuff. I parked my turquoise-colored Chevy alongside my dad’s navy-blue Cadillac and got out. And there was my father and my sister Linda talking to Dr. Hoskins inside of the riding ring. They were talking quietly as people rode around them on horseback. I could hear that they were talking about saddles and bridles and the best way to keep the leather soft and clean. They were visiting, like old friends, and I could see that the doctor looked so grateful that our dad had come to see him.

  They weren’t saying a single word about my brother. And they weren’t talking about the newspaper article, either. Then, when I came up close and my dad saw me, he introduced me to this man, whom all of my life I’d always known as the monster.

  Dr. Hoskins took off his riding glove and offered me his hand and I could see that he was nothing but a tired, old gentleman who looked very close to death himself.

  I hesitated. I glanced at my dad, and he nodded to me, but still, it was rea
l hard for me to reach out and take the doctor’s hand. After shaking his hand, I immediately backed away, and watched my dad and this old doctor continue visiting. I flashed on what my brother had told me on the last day we’d been together. He’d told me what was needed on Earth wasn’t control or more money or great new inventions. No, what the world really needed was so simple—patience, love, compassion, forgiveness, and understanding.

  Remembering this, I looked at my dad and I could see that this was exactly what he was doing. And he wasn’t faking it, either. Mi papa was really, really forgiving this man inside of his heart as he spoke to him. I just couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out how my dad was able to do this. Hell, I was ready to drive over to school as soon as we were through and kill Moses.

  I wanted REVENGE! I wanted JUSTICE after all these years, just like my mother, I WANTED MOSES TO BURN IN HELL FOR ETERNITY!

  And yet, as I stood here and watched mi papa, a child of the Mexican Revolution, a man who’d gone to hell and back so many times in his life that he usually had more rage and vengeance in his heart than any ten hombres, I could see that he was setting aside all this as he now spoke with the doctor.

  Then I saw it so clearly, why my dad was “forgiving” this man, just like Jesus “forgave” those men on the cross, because they hadn’t known what they’d done.

  My heart began beating! No, no, no, I could never, never, never do this, AND LIVE! I had to kill Moses and all those other people before I could live.

  But then it hit me. How in the world did I expect to live after I killed Moses and all those other people? The cops would come to get me and no, I wouldn’t kill them because I had no beef with the Oceanside Police—in fact, three cops were close friends of ours—and I’d be arrested and taken to jail. And my parents would lose another son. Then, both of their sons would be gone.