You're a lucky grandma. You survived the mini-tsunami without a scar on your pretty face. You get to keep the million dollar Heidelberg scar for story
telling.
Here's a story just for you about those life marks.
Don’t Mess with the Commandante
Friday night in Las Tinajas, nothing on T.V., Barbara in Tahoe visiting her mother so I jumped on the quad, bumped over to The Laughing Gull on the
beach. The resort was closed but the bar was open. I didn’t expect to find many people there because it’s been slow for weeks now in East Cape.
Just the bartender Saul and two couples were trying to make the most of a quiet night on the beach. As I sat down at the bar, the two couples got up,
left some money on the table and walked out chatting and laughing. So it was just me and Saul. That’s Sa – ool for all you gringos. I’ve known him a
long time but not well. He was a fisherman around here for years and when the fishing went south he was lucky to be well-connected with the owners of
the resort, snagged the bartender’s job. Saul can handle most of the simple c-cktails but you’d be in trouble if you ordered a Mai Tai or a Seabreeze
– can’t expect a fisherman to know everything.
He does know the lingo – over the years, working the charters and now bartending he speaks some English slang you would only expect to hear spoken by
Mexicans who had lived in the states. We get along pretty well because most gringos who Saul meets are just weekend fishermen, not guys like me who
fish for money. He knows I worked the shrimpers out of Galveston, charters all over the Florida coast, Cabo cruisers and Newport dayboats before I
settled down here in semi-retirement.
This was one of those Miami nights. That’s what I call 70% humidity, 90 degrees, no breeze to blow away the Jejenes. Saul had the fan behind him, I
had nothing but the overhead. Back at the house on nights like these when I don’t want to run the air, keep the electrical cost down I just wear my
shorts and T shirt, get under the outdoor shower, sit out on the front patio facing the ocean and with cold beer and good music try to summon up a
breeze of some kind.
The Gull is one of those round, thatched roof jobs poolside right on the beach. Gringos love the Zalate roots curling up around the tree-trunk columns
that support the little open hut. Beer is still under three bucks, they don’t play the music too loud and the shade, soft lighting makes the place
look tropical and inviting. Saul’s smiling face completes the invitation. I guess he’s about my age, mid to late fifties but it’s hard to tell. This
night he sported a butterfly bandage on his left eyebrow; the kind you use instead of sutures. I pushed my empty beer glass his way as a signal to
pour another and made the All-American mistake of opening a can of worms.
“Saul, what’s with the butterfly.”
At first he just looked puzzled, kind of looked around the bar.
“The bandage. It’s called a butterfly.”
“Oh, lo vendaje. I left my cell in the kitchen, Rosa picked it up before I could get in there. It was Carmelita in La Paz. They got into it, Rosa got
mad, I got this. I went over there to the clinic to have somebody sew me up, stop the bleeding but the P-nche medico got me for 200 pesos for this
little piece of tape.”
I pulled my tank top over my shoulder, turned toward Saul and said “Here’s my old mark I got from one too many women at the same time. Marlinspike
don’t make a big hole but it cuts deep. Was sore for weeks. So I wouldn’t forget, I guess.”
He put down the glass he was washing, pulled up his T shirt. “This little pez vela, sailfish, stabbed me good here under the arm. I released her
after I called her mother some names.”
I held up my left hand where I’m missing my pinky and the top joint of the next finger. “Line on a net winch on a cameronera out of Port La Vaca,
Texas.”
Saul turned his back to me, pulled up his shirt again. “c-ckfights in Santiago. Drugged up gallero loser stabbed me and the juez with the long spurs.
Seven or eight years ago. I think he’s still in the cereso. Not a deep cut but lots of stitches on that one.”
I got off the stool, stepped back a bit turned and pulled down the back of my shorts a about 4 or 5 inches. “Guy from Oregon gaffed me good by
accident bringing in a big blue at the Gordo Banks…”
Just then two young men walked in at the exact wrong moment, started laughing at my antics. One of them said “Who you flashin’ pops?”
As they sat down I walked to their table. “We were playing scars. You guys don’t look like you could play. Not your fault. You’re both young and
probably work in little cubicles where scars would be hard to come by.”
They weren’t longhairs, one was tall and blond and thin, the other even taller sported a big belly and beefy arms, hands and all that goes with that
bulk.
Burly boy sneered at me. “Old man, you better go find another place to play before you get some more scars to play with.”
Saul heard it and picked up the cell phone next to the beer cooler.
“Saul here likes things tranquil when he works. He’s calling the cops. There’s been some armed robberies around here lately. Two gabachos with guns
held up a Pemex at El Cien, a Tienda Popular in Miraflores.”
Saul stopped talking on the phone, motioned me over handed me the cell. “It’s the Commandante. He wants to talk to you.” I said to burly and lanky and
put the cell on the table.
The burly one just sneered some more as he picked up the phone, held it to his ear. “This another joke old man? Hello.”
Pretty soon his smile faded, he threw the phone down and moved off toward the door with his pal right behind. “Screw you. Both of you.”
I picked the phone up. I knew who it was – Saul’s brother Aldo on the boat. “Hey, it’s Ray, what did you say to that guy?” I asked him while I walked
to the bar and sat back down.
“I told him he was under arrest. I told him to put his hands behind his head and lie down on the floor.”
I repeated it to Saul, handed him the phone while we both started laughing. He said “Aldo, maybe you should see about a job with the policia. You
ain’t making any money on that boat now and you owe me mucho. Why don’t you jump in the dingy and come to the bar to play scars with us.”
“Scars, what the hell is scars?”
“Ven, the bar is buying. We will teach you.”shari - 9-3-2012 at 04:50 PM
jejeje.....gracias compa...great story...I look forward to a round of "scars" soon. I"ve quite been enjoying showing off my wounds...last night my
neices and nephews were coming up from the blowhole and I showed them my owies and they replied by showing me their various scrapes and cuts too....we
all had a good laugh about that.
[Edited on 9-3-2012 by shari]Ken Bondy - 9-3-2012 at 05:43 PM
Loved the story Jorge!! Another one of your little gems. Como se dice "gems" en espanol? Joas??Marc - 9-3-2012 at 06:01 PM
Agreed. Great!!DENNIS - 9-3-2012 at 06:23 PM
Quote:
Originally posted by Ken Bondy
Loved the story Jorge!! Another one of your little gems. Como se dice "gems" en espanol? Joas??
Almost got it, Ken.
JOYAS.......JEWELSKen Bondy - 9-3-2012 at 06:51 PM
Quote:
Originally posted by DENNIS
Quote:
Originally posted by Ken Bondy
Loved the story Jorge!! Another one of your little gems. Como se dice "gems" en espanol? Joas??
Almost got it, Ken.
JOYAS.......JEWELS
Gracias DENNIS! I got most of the lettersbigjohn - 9-3-2012 at 09:40 PM
Really enjoyed this one. Also reminds me of one of the Lethal Weapon movies where they were comparing scars. Someone always has a better scar, or an
even better story! willardguy - 9-3-2012 at 10:00 PM
mary ellen moffat!bigjohn - 9-4-2012 at 07:17 AM
Forgot about the scars game in Jaws. That was also a good one!watizname - 9-4-2012 at 09:19 AM
Another great read. Thanks. BajaBlanca - 9-4-2012 at 09:31 AM
