by Pastor, Juan
The giant is looking in the back flap to see how I’m doing.
“Some of them say that three coyotes headed into town to get gas.” The giant says. “Me. I’m betting they’re at some bar now, getting drunk. I’m pretty sure they left these poor bastards out here to fend for themselves.”
“Where is Sin?” I ask. “I could use his help. He does claim to be a doctor.”
I look outside the rear flap.
“And where’s my Tahoe?” I ask.
“Sin’s got it.” John D says.
“That S.O.B. It’s got all my medical supplies in it.” I say. “Would’ve been nice if he’d asked if I might need them before he took off, ‘cause I do. Where does he think he’s going?”
“Says he’s gonna find the scumbags that were driving this truck.” The giant says. “Says he’s gonna give them a piece of his mind.”
“He’s only got a little piece of it left anyway, might as well give it to someone.” I say. “Where did he say he was going to find them?”
“Sin says there’s this place called Maria’s Bar & Grill.” John D says. “He says you can get gas there too.”
“Sin’s more interested in putting a few beers away while the rest of us clean up this mess.” I say.
“Smart boy!” The giant says.
“If he runs into the people, if you can call them people, who had anything to do with this, they’re going to beat the crap out of him.” I say.
“Should either Bo or I go after him?” John D asks.
“Are you kidding?” I say. "We can’t spare anyone, and the only vehicle we have right now that we know will run is the HumVee. If Sin is stupid enough to get in a fight, and I know he is, let him handle it.”
“I’m just afraid he’s gonna get himself killed.” Bo says. I’m noticing Bo is starting to sound less like a Mexican, and more like an American good‐old‐boy. Maybe for John D’s benefit.
“Maria’s Bar & Grill.” I say. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Maybe because of Maria? She’s a legend.” The giant says. “She’s a little old white‐haired lady but you don’t want to mess with her. I once saw a group of losers take a rattlesnake out of a bag, and put it on the bar when she had her back turned. When she turned around, all these jerks at the bar started laughing. She picked up the rattlesnake by its rattling tail and snapped it in the air right in front of the ringleader’s face like a whip, and then threw the dead snake in the guy’s face.”
“And how do you like her daughter?” John D asks. “Rosie, I think her name is.”
“She’s quite a beauty, isn’t she?” Bo asks. “I think she’s still a virgin.”
“I think she’s about sixteen years old.” John D says. “At least she looks it.”
“They don’t ask for IDs in Mexico.” Bo says.
“But have you ever seen her eyes?” John D asks.
“Those fiery deep dark Latina eyes?”
“She looks at me with contempt.” John D says. “Prolly because I’m a Gringo.”
“Prolly?” I think to myself. Now he’s trying to redneckify the giant.
“It’s your imagination.” Bo says. “All these Latina girls get hot when blue‐eyed‐blonde Americanos are around. Am I right, Pequeña?”
Of course while these two grown men are having this juvenile discussion to impress each other with how manly they are, I am trying to nurse a baby with a bottle of warm water with a nipple I’ve jury rigged onto it, so the baby’s mother can get a drink herself, and maybe succeed at getting a granola bar down.
I see the mother has been hemorrhaging. So much pain. So much suffering because of ignorance. And there they are in the middle of it all, two grown men talking about the sex appeal of a virgin underage girl. One day, there will be a revolution. Maybe I will lead it. Maybe my Latina sisters will join me. It will be a “no tomar su mierda más (not taking your shit anymore)” revolution. Right now though I have a baby to nurse.
Don’t Spin The Tires
Sputter, groan, cough, wheeze, snort. Sputter
and groan again. That seems to be the only vocabulary the old cattle truck has.
“I sure hope it starts.” Bo says.
“You seemed pretty sure when you poured the last of our reserve gas in the tank.” I say.
“Sputter, groan, sputter.” The truck says, which is old truck language for, “I think I can.”
“Did you check to see if the truck had a gaso…?” I begin to say.
But the truck interrupts. “Cough, wheeze, sputter, sputter, wham, kablam!”
That’s truck language for, “I’m a diesel, you idiot.”
Parts of the truck engine have been blown through the hood and lay on the desert floor. John D is laughing so hard tears are in his eyes. I start to laugh. Bo the giant starts to laugh. When the giant laughs, everyone else realizes it is okay to laugh. And they laugh. It is the first time these people have laughed in weeks. There is something about laughter. It is medicine. Not only is it medicine but it is contagious medicine.
As the laughter starts to fade one old man says, “I think we could push it into town.”
“Si.” One voice says. Then another. Then another. “We could. We could push it into town!”
“Some of you are in no condition to push a huge truck across the desert.” Bo says.
The woman who has been helping Pequeña says, “We don’t all have to push. Those who can will push. Those who can’t will walk. Those who can’t walk will ride.”
John D leaves the conversation to look in the HumVee. Next thing, he backs it up to the front bumper of the cattle truck. He steps out of the HumVee with a towstrap. He hooks one end of it to one of the Hummer’s rear tow hooks. He hooks the other end to the old cattle truck’s front bumper mount.
“There.” He says.
“We can tow it?” I ask. "People won’t have to push? You sure?”
“Even if we were on pavement, I doubt the Hummer could tow it.” John D says. "On this siltysand, it’sgoing to be next to impossible. If I dig myself in too far before the big truck gets moving, we’ll be up shit crick.”
More redneck vocabulary, I think to myself. I’ve got to remember that one. We’re in a desert, but if we don’t get the old truck moving we’ll be up the creek, and not just any creek, but a shit creek, and you’ve got to say it like you’re chewing on tobacco. “Sheeeit Crick.” I say quietly, let the “i”s become “e”s and the “e”s become “I”s, practicing the tongue and mouth movements.
“So you pull, we push.” Bo says.
“Pequeña drives the Hummer. We push.” John D says. “And there’s room for 3 more adults and a half dozen small children in the HumVee. The heavier we make the HumVee, and the lighter we make the cattle truck, the better. You…” He points at the old woman who was helping me clean up the mess in the truck, “You’re going to drive the old cattle truck.”
“But I’ve never driven before.” The old lady says.
“You won’t really be driving.” John D says. “All you have to do is hang on to the steering wheel, keep the old thing following me.”
“If I’m behind the wheel, there will be two old things following you, the truck, and me.” The old lady says. “But you’ll be the best thing I’ve followed anywhere.”
John D can’t help smiling. “Everyone take your positions. You, you, you and you.” He says pointing at two women and their children. “You get in the cab with cougar lady.”
John D comes over to the HumVee, where I’m already in the driver’s seat. “Start her up.” He says. “Pull forward until you have tension on the towstrap, then wave to us to start pushing. Once we’re moving, just keep it moving, no matter how slow. And please, don’t start spinning the tires.”
“Dammit!” I say. “Why do men always say that?”
A Full House
Caravans are supposed to be part of antiquity.
But here we are, pulling into Nogales with a covered wagon that is really an o
ld Ford cattle truck, and a steel horse that is really a military vehicle. Those that are still strong enough push, and those that are too weak to push straggle behind like tired dusty Jews leaving Egypt.
There is GPS in the HumVee, and thankfully it brings us to a highway. Once both vehicles are on firm surface, it is much easier to tow it.
Maria’s Bar & Grill is unlike anything you are likely to see in the states. It is as close to the highway as a building can get without actually being on the road surface. It is sheathed in what would be called board and batten, if there were any batten. With board and batten, the boards are nailed vertically to the support members of the building, and the batten is nailed vertically at the cracks between the boards to make the siding more airtight. Of course, the boards are roughcut, and they were installed green, so some of the cracks are almost an inch wide.
There are hitching posts, or, more accurately, hitching post and rails, which are two posts with a horizontal rail straddling the top. There are two horses and one burro tied up to the rail. There are dusty motorcycles, dusty trucks, one large tractor trailer truck, and one dusty jeep which looks like Sin’s but it isn’t Sin’s because Sin has my Tahoe, and there it is, parked on the shoulder of the road like all the other vehicles.
A very heated discussion is going on inside the bar. I, John D, Bo, and almost two dozen pilgrims make our way onto the porch of the cantina. At least it is in the shade under the roof of the cantina. Many of the people just collapse on the porch, thankful to finally be out of the sun. Some are dipping their empty water bottles, or collapsible tins that they carry with them always, into a large water tank near the horses and burro.
As I step through the swinging doors I see one man holding Sin and two other delivering punch after punch to his face and body. He falls, and the man who has been holding him begins to kick him while the other two rub their bruised fists.
Bo and John D immediately walk toward the action to even things up. Maria steps in front of them.
“This isn’t your concern.” She says.
A young girl who most likely is the “Rosie” the two
men spoke about steps from behind the bar. John D doesn’t take his eyes off her. He seems entranced.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Maria says to Rosie, “stay behind the bar.”
“Isn’t anyone going to help him?" I ask.
This isn’t real. Sin’s face is unrecognizable. The Rosie behind the bar is Rosaria. And the old grey‐haired woman who won’t let anyone help Sin is the Virgen Maria.
“The question is, Pequeña, are you going to help him?” The Virgen Maria says.
One of the three coyotes flashes a menacing smile, and kicks Sin again in the ribs. Sin doesn’t even flinch. He is unconscious.
“Why don’t you say a prayer to your God, Pequeña?” The Virgen Maria says. “Maybe he’ll come down from heaven and save Sin, and then give all the people outside some manna, milk, and honey. He didn’t save my Son when my son asked why he’d been forsaken. But you go ahead. And, oh yeah, while your world is unraveling, you want to know a secret? See the blonde‐haired blue‐eyed god you see over there? The one you secretly call John D? The one you want to take your panties off for? His real name is Scott Wilson. Does the name sound familiar. You once cleaned up after him when he was a student in Guatemala. He was a lot skinnier and pimple faced then. He was starting a beard to hid that fact.”
I am swimming. It is getting dark in the room.
“Did you know that many years ago he was guarding the border?" Virgen Maria says. “He saw two harmless little girls. He wanted to feel like a man, so he put crosshairs on one and pulled the trigger.”
John D, Scott Wilson, whatever his name really is, begins to tremble, he drops to his knees and puts his face in his hands. He begins to violently sob. Bo steps quietly away from him as if he is about to be contaminated by him.
“And then he puts the crosshairs on you.”
Bo takes a step toward the coyote standing over Sin. Rosie goes over to him, takes his wrist, and shakes her head at him.
“It’s up to you, Dear.” The Virgen Maria says. “There are people outside waiting to be taken care of. Scott will want to go to church, and then to the authorities, and confess his sins. Sin may already be in shock, he may pass into a coma soon. You recently mentioned wanting to start the NTYSAM Revolution. You can start by crushing the serpent. You see, the serpent knows you are kind. He counts on your kindness.”
I really don’t know what is expected of me. I don’t know why no‐one will help. I don’t know why the Virgen Maria insists I get violent. But I don’t like the state Sin is in, and honestly, I don’t even know if he is alive. I was raised Catholic, but it seems that none of the Catholic teachings are helping me right now. I have a quick flash from one of Sin’s books called, The Bhagavad Gita. It is Hindi. There is a section where Prince Arjuna is asking why he must wage war. And Krishna tells him that sometimes the distinction between good and evil blurs, and it is necessary not to allow one’s self not to be annihilated, in order to continue fighting evil. Does this mean that it is okay to become evil, as long as I am fighting evil?
I am so confused and dazed. I know I have to do something soon. I rise out of my body and watch my body walk over to the pool cue rack. I pick out one, and I’m not even really sure why my body picks that particular one. It looks pretty, nice workmanship, and it feels right in my hands. I walk to the pool table. I walk by the pool table. My body does all these things, and I just hover above it all, watching.
I watch myself start to walk over to the horrible men who are standing over Sin, laughing. Outside the window a fancy black car has pulled in front of the cantina. It has an “L” on the grill.
“This can’t be good!” I am thinking.
“Perra loca…” I hear one of the horrible men say as my body walks toward him, holding the pool cue.
I notice that I have turned it around, and I am now holding it by the narrow end, because I want it to be the fat end that first crashes into each of the bad men’s skulls. If the stick should break, I will use the end I hold as a dagger. I am amazed, because I am hoping my body will damage each of the bad men’s bodies so badly he will die. But I want them all to hurt badly for a long time before they die.
The smiles have gone from the bad men’s faces. They look as if they wear hideous masks.
One rushes toward me, and a round dark red spot the color of burnt blood appears on his forehead, and a puff of red mist expands just behind his head and spatters the wall.
“Fall down.” I hear a woman’s voice behind me say. And I say behind because my mind has now rejoined my body, and I am no longer looking down on myself.
I fall down, next to Sin. His face is in blood on the floor, and I can see a few of his teeth are loose on the floor, and there is blood on those teeth. Blood is running out of his mouth, but there is dry blood smeared all over his face.
There is one more shot, and another body falls.
“Stay down.” The woman’s voice says. There is another report, and a third body thuds to the floor.
From where I lay I see black stiletto heels, long brown legs, and at the top of the legs a very short skirt. A perfect brown hand holds a still smoking gun at her side. She isn’t wearing panties, or if she is, they are the color of her skin. No, she isn’t wearing any. And why am I even thinking this as if it matters? This woman has very quickly settled matters that no‐ one else wanted to deal with.
“I decided if one of us had to go to hell…” The sultry Hispanic voice says, “it may as well be me.”
The voice is familiar. Can it be? I look up. She is movie star beautiful. She has dark curly hair, and some of it hangs in ringlets onto her face. She takes some of the ringlets in her fingers and tucks them behind one ear. She exudes such sexuality, I feel like I’m falling in love with her. Her eyes are black and fiery. I’ve seen those eyes before. They belong to El Presidente’s wife.
Te
jana kneels in the blood next to Sin.
“Is he still alive?” I ask.
“There’s one way to find out.” Tejana says.
“Feel his pulse.” I say.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Tejana says.
Tejana bends over Sin. She grasps his cock firmly, through the pants with one hand. She feels it respond.
“He lives.” She says, smiling over her shoulder.
I remember thinking Tejana could make a dead man get a hard on. So how does she know. And apparently she doesn’t. She puts her lips next to Sin’s ear, the one not laying in blood. She talks softly but I pick out certain words.
Like “chupar (suck)”, “drenar el (drain the)”, “secar (dry)”, “bolas (balls)”.
