Osprey - 12-25-2008 at 11:12 AM
Melting Mexican Time
His father calls him Poopy. His given name is Fernando. I don’t know where this Poopy name came from and I don’t want to know. He’s five years old,
almost six. His daddy is my gardener. When he’s invited, he rides in the back of Juan Carlos’ old gray pickup, waits and talks to me while his daddy
clips and weeds and waters.
Took me forever to get Fernando though the front gate – he was afraid of Storm, my almost brindle beach dog. I live alone in this little house and
Storm’s a sorta guard dog. He’ll lick you to death once you’re inside the gate but he barks ferociously at every single soul who walks by the house. I
thought about training him not to bark but people, and Mexicans more than most, think he’s muy bravo because of all the barking – a little insurance
for me and my stuff.
Once they made friends they played and played but now Storm just says hello, plays a few minutes and runs off to pester Juan Carlos. Fernando has a
dog at home; a little black marauder named Bamboo. That comes out Bam-bo the way they say it. On hot days Fernando and I find a shady place to sit and
enjoy a big orange drink. Over time we have learned the narrow limits of our ability to communicate verbally. I speak a little pueblo but the little
guy has not bothered to learn many English words or grown up Spanish ones either. Luckily communication can take many forms. He can tell by my kisser,
my eyes, how I move my arms and hands if the subject under discussion is up-beat, complex or comic. I can see in his body language if I have captured
his attention or not, tell by his eyes, his lips if he is engaged or just pretending involvement (just to please me.)
Our style allows me an advantage I rarely enjoy. My ideas and admonishments go unchallenged. Another plus is the fact that my instructions help me
express how I feel without everybody in the village knowing all about it.
Here’s a sample of his visits. This one was just two days before Christmas.
We make our hellos, he does his thing with storm, I get the big orange drink.
“Fernando, for the four thousandth time I want you to know that I love you but I hate that name Poopy. If I had my way there would be no mention of
Poopy. I don’t want you to grow up and leave the village to go to college in the big city because I fear you might not come back. In fact, I don’t
want you to grow up at all. If you can’t stay the way you are I’d like it just fine if you would become a gardener like your daddy.
I know your daddy can’t make enough money to save anything and I know he won’t have any money to retire on; he’ll have to work his whole life long.
More orange?”
“Si Señor Jorge.”
I didn’t say he was without words, a mute, a niño – he is bright and polite. He has long eyelashes like a girl, eyes the size of overcoat buttons, the
color of ironwood.
“You’ve got to promise me you’ll try to finish school before you get some girl pregnant, run away so as not to get involved in all that family stuff.
And the drugs. Don’t even try the drugs. Promise me, no drugs, never, nunca.”
“Nunca.” he mumbled
“The rich kids, the ejidetarios, who sold the land for the golf courses, they will offer you the drugs. They will let you ride in their shiny new
trucks but they get high or drunk, drive way too fast. It’s dangerous. That’s all I’m saying. Be careful. And don’t worry about learning too much
English like Emiliano or Chuy who made friends with new gringos just to cheat them. Help your mother around the house and the yard. Help her cope with
the diabetes – when you’re a little older you can help her with the medicine, help her control her condition.
And don’t be drawn to the fishing. Fishing used to be a good way to put food on the table but I fear hard times ahead for fishermen. Once the gambling
comes along nobody will pay much to go fishing and Mexico has sold most of the fish already. When you get to escuela secondaria you’ll learn about
computers. If I’m still around I’ll get one for you – the whole world will open up for you then. You will be amazed at what’s out there.
If something happens to me, see if your mom and dad will let you take Storm to live with you and Bamboo. Your daddy knows he’s not mean. In the
meantime, as I grow sicker and weaker you’re gonna’ grow taller, stronger. When the time comes you can leave your house, walk about the village on
your own, I’d like it if you could stop by and see the old gringo sometime.”
I took a little swig of my orange, smiled down at him and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Si, Don Jorge, claro.”
Don Jorge. I like that. See, I told you he’s polite. And it’s clear he understands a lot of things. Truth be told, I don’t know if it really matters
all that much.
Udo - 12-25-2008 at 11:20 AM
This is the best Christmas gift you could have given all of us Nomads, George.
We already love Poopy, and can't wait to meet him!
Feliz Navidades, Don Jorge.
Udo y Jana
[Edited on 12-25-2008 by udowinkler]
DENNIS - 12-25-2008 at 11:31 AM
Thanks, Jorge. Excellent, as usual and it seems a fitting day to enjoy a poignant vignette. You have a good eye and a compassionate ear. Thanks.
Merry Christmas.
fdt - 12-25-2008 at 12:10 PM
Gracias Don Jorge, Feliz Navidad.
Ken Bondy - 12-25-2008 at 12:23 PM
Another great story Osprey!! You write beautifully. Gracias por el regalo de Navidad!! ++Ken++
Sharksbaja - 12-25-2008 at 12:24 PM
Mas gracias para regalo classico. Merry Christmas.
Don Alley - 12-25-2008 at 01:09 PM
Thank you Osprey.
Merry Christmas from Paula and me.
Debra - 12-25-2008 at 02:08 PM
Beautiful story, THANKS!
Iflyfish - 12-25-2008 at 05:59 PM
Claro amigo. I want to know more about these wonderful characters. I love the interior dialogue, one that most of us have had and few can share.
Iflyfishwhennotinaweofyourwriting
Osprey - 12-25-2008 at 08:28 PM
Srfly, the story came to me this morning over coffee. Sometimes I use the keyboard to find vehicles for things I want to say. I simply set up
scenarios where I can step aside while setting free my emotions. At times, when I think I have hidden myself from objection or ridicule I go too far
and appear in all my nakedness. My love for this village, it's people, my fears for its future come bubbling up no matter where my characters crouch
or hide or masquerade. Thanks, to all of you.
Sharksbaja - 12-25-2008 at 09:05 PM
That's cause yer a big heart with arms n' legs pal. Sadly though I feel your angst towards the near future in Baja. It's an uncertain chapter that you
are so kindly obliged to fill in for us. Stay humble and don't stop please , it's a continuing gift to all us readers!
Sallysouth - 12-25-2008 at 11:48 PM
Oh that was so lovely!The way you have with your story telling is just so....well, you take me so close to the whole picture!I can feel it, almost
touch the people and feel what the emotions do to ones heart and soul.Great story Seahawk, and thank you!!