When I saw Pablito at the bar at El Caracol at first I thought the light had fooled me and it was somebody else. Never saw him near the place at the
c-cktail hour. It was almost seven and he was getting comfortably numb.
“Hola, amigo.” I said as I sat down and ordered a beer for both of us. Aldo brought the drinks, smiled at me and looked kind of disapprovingly at
Pablito.
“What’s the occasion? Trouble with Yadira or the kids? Not catching any fish? More cheap pendejos on your boat?”
“No, Roberto, no, it’s that old man again. I’m gonna’ quit him. I’ve worked for him long enough. I just hate to start all over, find another boat,
another job. I don’t like to change. I don’t like things to change. He’s talking crazy. Making me crazy like him.”
“He’s getting worse? What now?”
“Today four guys on the boat left us some beer and booze so he was drinking while we cleaned up the boat. He started talking about the dead, Mexicans
and their dead families. I tried not to listen to his whiskey talk but it made me mad. He was talking about Refugio’s family. He said he was driving
by the cemetery and he saw Refugio and his brother painting his family’s shrine. You know the big orange one to the far east, near the road? It’s a
big one and they were just finishing it – the whole family has been working on it for a long time and they had some extra money from selling a couple
of lots to some gabachos from L.A.”
“He says ‘verguenza, verguenza.’” He says they should have showed their parents the proper respect when they were alive, not after they died. That old
bastard says they let the old man and his wife live in a filthy broken down shack. He says now they are trying to make up for their sins. The money
buys back their love. Can you believe that? He says the more grand the santuario, the less shame and regret they have to carry around with them until
they die.
I wanted to knock his teeth out, throw him over the side, be done with it. Casey has been good to me most of the time but he thinks he knows all
about Mexico and Mexicans. He knows nothing. Sometimes he has a way of sticking a knife in my heart with his words.”
“How about on the boat? Does he lean on you, give you a hard time?”
“No, no it’s not the work. I like the work, I like the money, it’s Okay. He gives me his old clothes. Then sometimes fishing clients bring him new
shirts and shorts and gifts and he gives them to me. Last week he gave me his best boat knife – he said his father gave it to him. He gives clothes
and toys to my kids.
It’s just the talk. He talks crazy. He says they should fire five of the ten cops in town, double the wages of the five that stay. According to him
the ones they keep will work harder, take the jobs seriously. You can’t go around firing people for things like that. He’s nuts you know. He says
Yadira and me should stay on the kids to try to learn more in school, do their homework, study more. I can’t figure out all of the math and spelling
stuff. That’s none of his business how we raise our kids. He wants me to go up to the ranch more, see my papa. Hector can fill in, he says. I don’t
want Hector on my boat, doing my job.
Roberto, that old man wants me to go to the trade school in Monte Flores. He says he will pay. Why would I do that? I have a job. He says soon the
fish will be gone. He says I need to find a way to make money when the fish are gone.
Couple of days ago he says I have to make a plan. We were both pretty borracho. I told him I don’t plan, Mexicans don’t plan. Maybe in Mexico people
can plan but in Baja, chuntaros have no chance to change what is in their future. So he asked me how I got to work in San Diego. I told him how Juan
Carlos, mi primo, calls me, says he needs a partner to hang rock, says his wife, Blanca is pregnant and can’t hang rock no more. I told Casey how my
three years in the E.U. started for me – when I spent almost 20 hours in the trunk of an old Ford. I don’t have the words in Spanish or English to
tell you about the fear and the panic. I had a little water. I had a cup to pee in but no place to throw it out. I soiled myself and I wondered who
would be my sorry host, what might they think about this smelly, blubbering thing they pulled from the trunk of the old car.
Juan Carlos and Blanca treated me good. I sent lots of money back down here but after almost three years I had to get back. That’s the only plan I
ever made. It was so easy – I just walked across and came home on the bus.”
“Well, Pablito, I’m glad you made it back safe and sound, back with your family. Now I have something to share with you. I have a secret. I’m sworn
not to tell a living soul. Maybe you twisted my arm, maybe you threatened me. Is that Casey’s knife on your belt?”
“Si, navaja muy buena.”
“Let me see it. Just keep it out of sight, below the bar.”
He pulled it out, showed it to me and put it back in the case.
“If it ever comes up I’ll say you showed me your knife. I’ll say you were drunk, I was afraid, I had to tell you.”
“Now you’re talking crazy. Tell me what?”
“I took doctor Gonzales to Casey’s house. He examined him, took some fluids and a week later told Casey he has terminal cancer. This is September
second. Casey told me he won’t see the new year arrive. So you’re gonna’ have to keep his secret, get used to the idea of living in a world without
that vile, crazy old gringo, Casey Ryan. He is a crusty old man but I think he forgets you’re not his son. I think he has always had these strong
feelings for you and your family because he has no family of his own. When his time comes I’m supposed to take his body to La Paz to be cremated. I’m
not looking forward to that.”
“Roberto, I didn’t know. I didn’t know, I swear. He is getting skinny, I noticed that but I thought it was because he doesn’t eat right, doesn’t cook
much. When the day comes, I’d like to go with you.”
“I’d like that Pablito and I know Casey would too.”ligui - 1-24-2009 at 11:52 AM
Thanks for the insight , brings out many thoughts .Sallysouth - 1-24-2009 at 08:12 PM
Oh Seahawk, that hits home on many spots.Brings back memories of loved ones now gone that we never knew they had a disease(two come to mind, fisherman
and wife).and then my Mom.Never knew she was ill and sure wish I did before it was too late.He knew he was going and wanted the best for Pablito, to
do as much as he could for him before he passed, but that was misunderstood, the "crazy talk".Yes, your story makes one think very deeply.
[Edited on 1-25-2009 by Sallysouth]Paula - 1-24-2009 at 09:09 PM
Cuts to the bone, Osprey.fdt - 1-24-2009 at 09:11 PM
Muy profundo.Pescador - 1-27-2009 at 09:29 AM
How is it that Osprey can go right to the quick of the matter in a few paragraphs and I have friends who have been south of the border for over 20
years and they still only see the surface. It is a privelege to look through Osprey's eyes in these little insights.vandenberg - 1-27-2009 at 09:35 AM
Quote:
Originally posted by fdt
Muy profundo.
shari - 1-27-2009 at 09:55 AM
It is a delight to know that you truly "see" what few other do and an honour to read your insights. Thank you for these gems you post which allow
nomads to reflect and hopefully learn a little about the culture here. Presenting these cultural issues through prose is very effective...you are
talented hombre.
The santuarios are often a topic of this type of converstion about how families have spent more on the tomb than on the diseased persons casa. You
really explained it well about how many mexican people feel about what well intentioned gringos suggest they do....bravo amigo.Iflyfish - 1-27-2009 at 12:10 PM
I always leave your writing reflecting, and learning, we are fortunate to have you on this forum sharing your great writing and insight.
