Osprey
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Drink, drive = trouble. Even in Baja California
Tuerto
Tuerto was never Maria's dog. He was mine from the very moment I walked through the wire gate, introduced myself and asked her about her brother's
boat. The puppy's tail wagged and wiggled him up to me as I knelt to receive all the warm and furious licking, whining kisses. I could see his right
eye was slightly clouded, hence the name she had already given him, Tuerto, in Spanish, one-eyed. His head movement was even and natural; I thought
then, as I do now, he sees fine with both eyes.
A year later Tuerto had grown larger but not much taller. Jet black fur with a red touch at the edges when the sun hit just right. Because Maria
and I spent so much time at the beach, Tuerto became a beach dog. A great swimmer, he would fight the small waves to reach us, to be held, held above
the waves to see the pelicans. At times he would swim dangerously far from shore after the great birds. They would move off, fly a short distance as
though luring the intense little eyes and black nose, the only parts of the dog above the water, far from the safety of the shore. Maria and I must
have been a sight, waving and screaming "Tuerto, ven, ven aqui. Come, come here.”
That was almost five months ago.
Today I went back to the beach. I think I should spend time away from the house, the house and the memories. Tuerto knows the routine; when he sees
the fishing rod, the bucket, he runs for the jeep. When I reached the shore I turned south. No reason. Tuerto jumped out when I stopped to put the
jeep in four wheel drive. There were two pelicans standing on the wet sand, facing the sea. The dog chased the first into flight with his charge and
his barks. The second did not move. It was stock-still, its back to me, Tuerto began to charge from the front. I turned off the jeep and gathered
myself, ready to leap out, to keep the dog away from what might be a sick bird. All I could see of the big bird was his straight back and legs, the
back of his head. As the dog charged, he got the front view of the bird -- his long bill, sad eyes. I could see the bird would not or could not
fly so I yelled, just in time, "Tuerto".
Much to my surprise, the puppy stopped, swerved around the bird, jumped back in the jeep. I started the jeep, kept one eye on the bird in the side
mirror and drove on down the beach.
Maria and I had fished this stretch of beach many times -- I was not thinking of her now. The bird, I was thinking about the bird. I fished. Fished
and thought about the pelican. Wondered what could be wrong with the bird? The fish were not biting. Tuerto and I got back in the jeep and I
followed my own tracks back up the beach toward home. Where was the bird? There. He lay dead, crumpled on the sand exactly where we last saw him.
I could see scratches in the sand, soft tracks of his big webbed feet around where he now lay. No other tracks of people, other birds or animals.
For the next hour or so, while I cleaned up and ate, I couldn't help but feel guilty, insensitive. Maybe just standing there, the pelican was
waiting for death to come. How caring was I if I couldn't even bear to walk over, look the bird in eye, check to see if I could help it? Then on the
way back why didn't I go look at the bird, see if it was really dead, find out, perhaps, what killed it, what it died from.
Now, here on my patio, in the twilight, my guess is, today might have been the longest I have gone without thinking about Maria since the accident.
The longest time, more than three hours, without feeling empty and sick and ashamed since the rollover.
I remember it all. Her laugh, the small birthmark just above her left nipple, the smell of her hair in our after-swim showers. All the good, sweet,
natural things. Then, all of it lost, lost in the madness of the crushed and mangled truck, wheels in the air, one still spinning, incredible pain in
my legs, my mouth full of copper blood, her small brown body, misshapen, bloody, just beyond my reach. I wish I had never seen her eyes, full of pain
and wonder. Full of questions; questions I couldn't answer then, still can't. While Maria bled out I was paralyzed, couldn’t get to her. I have a huge
warehouse of excuses for all my reckless acts and omissions so why worry about a pelican?
I remember the church, the mass for Maria’s big Mexican family, the mourners, their jaws set like vengeful jurors; the cemetery, then the months of
awful silence. Her brother, Ramon, was not at home when I dropped off the boxes of her shoes and clothes. I left them on the porch and snuck off like
a thief. I remember finally burning all the goofy-sad photos
It's full dark now. I can't see the beach -- the beach I will now probably start to think of as Dead Pelican Beach. Drinking too much brandy again,
trying not to play our old sad songs – trying to shave and brush my teeth without looking in the mirror.
I hope the dog stays. I think of him as a mixed breed – a one-eyed forgiver-forgetter. If he leaves I’ll have nothing here to keep me. The
lonelyaches will send me to a place I don’t want to be. It’s a place beyond lost, a place where there are no excuses, no expiations and no
redemption. It’ll be a short, one way trip.
[Edited on 4-4-2011 by Osprey]
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Cypress
Elite Nomad
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Good story! Thanks
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woody with a view
PITA Nomad
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Registered: 11-8-2004
Location: Looking at the Coronado Islands
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Mood: Everchangin'
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glad to see you out of hibernation, my friend....
now, about drinking and driving in baja, on the notoriously bad roads...
don't do it. you might hit a tope and spill........
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DENNIS
Platinum Nomad
Posts: 29510
Registered: 9-2-2006
Location: Punta Banda
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Osprey
It's full dark now.
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As it is for me, Jorge.
You've refined your style....it's better than ever, but I have to ask, "why"? Why so gloomy...so dark, as you say?
Why the subject of death?
What are you going through?
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
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Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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I just don't want to talk right now. Some things have happened and I just can't put words to them now. Maybe in a while. Maybe never. I can't decide.
I'm torn.
Sometimes I........
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woody with a view
PITA Nomad
Posts: 15938
Registered: 11-8-2004
Location: Looking at the Coronado Islands
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Mood: Everchangin'
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....that's when i go surf, fish, etc....
chin up, bro!
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volcano
Nomad
Posts: 348
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Location: Cave Junction, Oregon and Boca Del Salado area, Ea
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Mood: always pining to be there
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Osprey
I just don't want to talk right now. Some things have happened and I just can't put words to them now. Maybe in a while. Maybe never. I can't decide.
I'm torn.
Sometimes I........ |
great writing as always..hope you are o.k.
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Iflyfish
Ultra Nomad
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Registered: 10-17-2006
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Love this story, the mood, the internal dialogue, one we all no doubt have had. Sometimes the sparks that fly off our anvil ignite in bright flames,
sometimes the embers smolder and produce only dark smoke. No matter what the destiny of the sparks they are wonders. Thanks amigo for sharing this
story with us.
Iflyfishinaweofospreyswriting
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BajaBlanca
Select Nomad
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Location: La Bocana, BCS
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gripping writing. really excellent ! hope you are OK, come to la bocana if you need a retreat 
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DanO
Super Nomad
Posts: 1923
Registered: 8-26-2003
Location: Not far from the Pacific
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Exquisite prose George, thanks, as always. As we both know, things have a way of working themselves out if you approach them the right way.
\"Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible.\" -- Frank Zappa
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
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Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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Sorry, I should have put my little Pompano novela lampoon in another thread. It must have looked as though the dark piece of fiction and then my joke
were tied together. I'm fine as silk. The story, like many of my fictional pieces simply tries to shine a light on the human condition, our excesses.
As most of you know, not all my stories have unhappy endings -- thanks for your concern.
Jorge
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Nappo
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Writing
Ok, fiction eh? Had to read thru many posts to see that. You are a good writer - could your real name be Daniel Reveles?
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DENNIS
Platinum Nomad
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Nappo
Ok, fiction eh? Had to read thru many posts to see that. You are a good writer - could your real name be Daniel Reveles? |
I think he hangs around Tecate.
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Bob H
Elite Nomad
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Location: San Diego
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Wow, what an incredible read. I am in tears!
The SAME boiling water that softens the potato hardens the egg. It's about what you are made of NOT the circumstance.
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Marc
Ultra Nomad
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Registered: 5-15-2010
Location: San Francisco & Palm Springs
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Mood: Waiting
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| Quote: | Originally posted by Nappo
Ok, fiction eh? Had to read thru many posts to see that. You are a good writer - could your real name be Daniel Reveles? |
Reads like a pro
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racheldarlin
Junior Nomad
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Registered: 9-30-2010
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Well done parody. When I first read it I thought the coincidence with the other thread was almost too great. Thanks.
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DENNIS
Platinum Nomad
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Years back, Osprey had me believing he was going around the beaches of Baja burning piles of fishing nets. It never occured to me that he had spun a
yarn and I was really concerned for his safety.
He writes convincing fiction and that's a fact.
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Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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Thanks Dennis. There was nothing sinister about me posting the story when I did. I haven't tried to sell or publish the piece so when a bunch of you
read it and liked it, it's my payoff for the work.
Nothing personal in it either. It's the only piece I've ever written about drinking/driving and it was a current topic so I thought it might be
timely, draw some attention. It often happens that when I read a thread that reminds me of an essay or a fictional piece about a subject, I post it
while that thread is still progressing.
Thanks to all who read it and to those who commented on it.
Jorge
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DENNIS
Platinum Nomad
Posts: 29510
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By golly, Jorge.....I do believe you have a bit of "activist" in you. 
Good to see you posting again, by the way.
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