Osprey
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3694
Registered: 5-23-2004
Location: Baja Ca. Sur
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Broken Wheel
Like a Broken Wheel
“Olivia, I’m through up here. Lupe will give me a ride to Brownsville. He will stay a little while longer. I have enough for the bus to Tampico, then
I’ll walk, hitchhike and use the train until I get back down to Tuxpan. We drive south in the morning so look for me in about three or four days.”
When she hung up the phone she didn’t know what she would tell her son Armando. She would have to tell him the truth that his father was coming home.
She thought. “He will be like a girl at her quinceanera, jumping and dancing and singing with joy. He cannot know that it is not a time for
celebration but a time to admit defeat. A time to get used to eating like birds, like we did two years ago before Ramon went north to work with his
cousin Lupe with the blocks and the trowel in Austin, Texas”.
“Ramon will not be celebrating. He will not be happy when he sees the lines of young men at the gate to the docks, at the Veracruz Roadways Projects
office, all waiting for a chance to work for nothing, enough for food but not enough for food and rent, enough for rent but not enough for rent and
food. Will it never end? He will not be happy with the small amount I have saved. It seems he sent so much, tens of thousands of pesos, but I had to
help my sister and her family, buy school things and clothes for Armando, pay the doctor when he got the gripe, when he cut his foot. Surely he can’t
expect I could save that much.”
Olivia Ortiz was filled with so many emotions she sat there, holding the phone, unable or unwilling to move – so conflicted by fear and shame and
helplessness. She was afraid Ramon would go into a rage about how much money was left, how much she spent. Shamed because he had risked everything to
make the money, send it home, that he had worked so hard for so long and perhaps it really was her fault they had little to show for it now. She
shared the hopeless, empty feeling with all the poor people of Tuxpan who could not envision a better tomorrow.
And what about the boy? She remembered taking Ramon’s old tattered, plaid shirt from his sack before he left. Armando found it; made it his own, slept
with it and sometimes would wear it like a robe. She would often see the quick wiry boy, now seven years old, stalking through the platano, his small
feet encased in red mud, mimicking his beloved father; cursing, spitting, slashing out at the thick, green stalks and fronds with a stick. In the
boy’s mouth, a small piece of wood, a prop cigarette to finish the picture. Sometimes the little man of the house went too far in his efforts to help
his Mami. Olivia could not count the times she had go to the neighbors, pay them for the chickens and eggs he stole and brought home with a grin. He
considered all chickens near his fence as free range stock. To Armando it was a simple Civil Rights question. The answer being that eggs produced are
the products of patently free peckers and scratchers who got food from not just the streets but also the Ortiz property and the small yards and
gardens of all of Armando’s neighbors.
His bravery was never more evident as the day his father was packing to leave. His five year old heart was beating with more than childish resolve.
“Papi, don’t leave, stay here with us. I will make the money. Show me how to make the money. Show me what to do and I can help. I will make the
money.” His eyes welled up but he turned away to hide the tears, then tried again and again until his father pulled away from his frantic grasp then
disappeared like a ghost into the early morning mist.
Lonely are the brave. The boy would not show his tears to his mother. She could hear his muffled sobs smothered by his pillow and bedding. He did not
care about the new shoes, the bright and handy school backpack – he missed his father, the man who had doted on the boy every minute he spent at home.
Armando knew nothing of the girl child who died for him in the birthing bed; he could never know how much his father was thankful for a replacement, a
boy, a beautiful boy to love, to hold, to teach.
For a while Armando will not notice poverty’s return to the Ortiz household – he will be so filled with love and adoration for his father that his own
very private celebration will continue for months to come. Olivia wonders what Ramon will remember after two long years. Will he ask about the new
bed, the rug, the pretty curtain for the shower? She hopes he will be anxious for the lovemaking, be anything but accusative, then, hopefully, he’ll
be totally involved in finding work, making some money after being idle for more than three months. She wonders what he will think about the weight
she’s gained; thirty pounds in about twenty months, then losing about ten of it in the last four months since the money began to trickle in, and then
stop altogether.
One thing for sure - she will not give him all the money that’s left. Some of it she will hide in a special place outside, near the big guymuchil
tree. No one knows what the future may hold. He could decide not to stay, again.
It only took him two days to get home. A trucker gave him a ride all the way from Tampico to Xalapa, he got another ride from there to Veracruz and he
walked the rest of the way to his little pink house.
It turned out that Olivia’s fears were for nothing. Ramon had put on some weight himself. There was no way to tell how much money he kept for himself,
how he lived while in EEUU. Armando was beside himself in joy but he knew his father needed some space for the reunion. After Ramon had all the
necessary drinks and food and shower and sex there would be a lifetime to catch up on all that had happened while he was gone. Olivia was right about
Ramon being disappointed about the tens of thousands of Mexicans out of work in the state of Veracruz.
Ramon knew a couple of guys who were in the Gulf Cartel. He thought “If only they would let you in for a short while. They know better – once you have
pledged, that’s for you and your family forever. You can’t get out. I could do it. I could kill to save my family from starvation. Maybe it’s hard to
kill that first time. Maybe after that you know everything is written in steel and the rest would come without conscience, without guilt. Perhaps my
family would have money, be left alone if I died for the brotherhood.”
He knew that somehow he must find work around Tuxpan or Veracruz while he waited for Lupe’s call; while he waited for word that the housing thing was
going again. Could he hold on here that long? Olivia did not save much of the money.
“It’s so hard to know what to do. It seems my life is like a broken wheel that speeds along until it locks up, then everything comes to a deathlike
standstill where all you can do is wait until it gets fixed. Then maybe it speeds up again, smooth again until the next breakdown. The truckers will
have many young men to keep them awake on the road. Some will be headed north, some south; the thing I fear the most is not having those options and
in my heart I know that day will surely come. Then it will be the Cartels or nothing. Seems Mexicans were born to be always on the road, always in
trucks, one way or another. I think it’s in our blood. Maybe I was a bad man in another life – maybe I deserve the accident of being born in this
rough place and growing up to be a proud Mexican at a time when we can find, en otro lado, only those things which sustain but do not fulfill or
satisfy.”
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vandenberg
Elite Nomad
Posts: 5118
Registered: 6-21-2005
Location: Nopolo
Member Is Offline
Mood: mellow
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Great piece, Jorge !!
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Iflyfish
Ultra Nomad
Posts: 3747
Registered: 10-17-2006
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I feel like I know these people. The internal dialogue is very compelling and puts us inside of these people. I love your writing and we are honored
to have you posting your writing on this site.
Iflyfish
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ckiefer
Nomad
Posts: 258
Registered: 12-12-2007
Location: LaJolla
Member Is Offline
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Thanks so much Osprey! I've been waiting for the next story.... 
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Kell-Baja
Nomad
Posts: 360
Registered: 1-18-2003
Location: San Diego
Member Is Offline
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GREAT STORY!!! How about a part 2?
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Sallysouth
Super Nomad
Posts: 1835
Registered: 10-9-2003
Location: Capo Beach
Member Is Offline
Mood: missing Baja...
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Ah, Another Gem by Seahawk! I agree wholly with Iflyfish, we are honored to have your writings here. Thank you from a humble Nomad.
Happiness is just a Baja memory away...
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shari
Select Nomad
Posts: 13050
Registered: 3-10-2006
Location: bahia asuncion, baja sur
Member Is Offline
Mood: there is no reality except the one contained within us "Herman Hesse"
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gracias amigo...your stories have become my favorite posts on this board. I thank you for them...and your clear insights into the heart of mexico.
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Udo
Elite Nomad
Posts: 6364
Registered: 4-26-2008
Location: Black Hills, SD/Ensenada/San Felipe
Member Is Offline
Mood: TEQUILA!
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Welcome back, buddy!
I know when I see a post by you, it's a worth-while piece.
I am looking forward to spending some time with you...especially fishing!
It is obvious you love being where you are as well as having an affinity for the Mexican people.
Udo
[Edited on 3-15-2009 by udowinkler]
Udo
Youth is wasted on the young!
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GeoRock
Nomad
Posts: 329
Registered: 3-7-2003
Location: Mammoth Lakes, CA
Member Is Offline
Mood: Always have one
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Well written, clear, brings forth the essence of human emotion. Thanks for sharing!!!
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