Authors: Juan Pastor
“His
larynx suffered some damage. That damage has been
repaired, but it will be some time before he is back to normal.”
She pauses. “Personally, I’m enjoying an Almon who is a little
less long‐winded.” She waits for the laughter in the room, and
the world, to erupt, run its course, and subside. Then she
continues. “We will be heading back to Washington soon.
Obviously, I can’t give you the details, for security reasons, but
we will be back in the White House soon. Almon and I, and El
Presidente Braulio and Tejana have had some very fruitful
talks, and we intend to implement a number of strategies that
will bring a new age of cooperation between the U.S and
Mexico, and between all the nations of the Americas, for that
matter. As soon as Almon and I get back to Washington, and
get things in order, we will be having a news conference to lay
out those strategies. Hopefully, Almon’s voice will be fully
recovered by then. If not, I guess I’ll have to continue doing
the talking.”
Sin
(Almon) keeps gesturing as if there is something
important she is not saying. Skyler ignores him. But he
continues the gesturing. Finally she steps away from the mic,
and he bends over and talks softly in her ear. And this goes on
for some time, and Skyler can hear the murmurs in the crowd.
“My husband insists he wants to say something.”
Skyler says. “But don’t encourage him, or he may not stop.”
Skyler takes a moment to enjoy the laughter. She seems
happy.
Almon steps up to the mic, and adjusts its height. His
voice is soft and low and gravelly, yet very Almon‐like. Sin has
been doing his homework. “If you are happy that Presidente
Sepulvida and I are alive, you should thank the dedicated
people of this clinic. You should thank especially the woman
everyone calls Pequeña Maria. This is her clinic, the Clinica
Rosaria, named after a dear friend of hers whose dream it was
to be a doctor before that dream was cut short at the wall.”
Skyler sees he is struggling with not only his weak
voice, but with his feelings. She steps near him.
“Are you sure you want to go on?” She whispers.
He nods.
“Xavier and I intend to introduce bills in each of our
legislative houses respectively for the 50/50 subsidy of this
clinic.” Almon says. “We also intend to draft plans for the
construction of eleven other clinic/welcome centers along the
U.S.‐Mexico border.”
I note the surprise on the face of Skyler, but she quickly
turns that look into one of angelic appreciation of her (new)
husband’s dream. I note Tejana’s smile. I note Braulio’s eyes
grow wide. Apparently, none of this was discussed with
anyone, but Sin is realizing he now has wings, and he’s
decided to fly. The clinic is so full of applause and cheers, it
makes me wonder what must be going on in front of TV
monitors throughout the U.S and Mexico, thoroughout the
Americas and the world.
Sin continues to ride the wave. “Within a month of my
return to Washington, I will deploy various divisions, now
undeployed, to begin the demolition of the wall. Anyone who
has a sledgehammer, and wants to get a head start, go ahead.
You have the blessing of both country’s Presidents. As long as
you recycle the materials. We may need some of them for the
new clinics”
The room erupts into such celebration, it seems as if it
may last forever. But Sin, now becoming more and more a
new Almon, waves his hand, and everyone listens. His voice is
starting to falter a little.
“The wall is a serpent,” He says. “and it is time to crush
the serpent.”
Braulio is in shock. There is no way he can say “no” to
any of this. If he does, he is done politically.
Tejana has her head bowed, as if in prayer. A few curly
ringlets of hair are loose on her forehead. She takes her hand,
and fixes the ringlets behind her ear. She looks up, over at me,
and I smile. She looks toward Skyler, standing near her
husband, and Skyler nods imperceptibly. Skyler has this look of
determination on her face I don’t remember ever seeing
before.
The “Ain’t Taking Your Shit No More Revolution” is on.
Vagina
Internacional.” The Virgen Maria says. “I’ve called this
Conferencia because one thing has become painfully obvious
to me.”
“And that is…?” Skyler asks.
“Since the beginning of recorded time, and even
The
Virgen Maria says.
“But that is only because men are so much more logical
than
women.” Rosie says. She says it with such seriousness
and conviction, every woman there looks at her like she’s lost
her mind. Rosie looks my way. Her eyes sparkle with
amusement.
“As
I say,” The Virgen Maria continues, “one thing has
become very clear to me.”
“And what is that?” Skyler asks again.
“Men don’t have a clue what they’re doing.” The
Virgen Maria says.
“Why were they allowed all this foolishness, then, for
so long?” Tejana asks. “If they didn’t know what they were
doing.”
“Because we enabled them.” The Virgen Maria says.
“We let them do everything they Goddammed pleased.”
“But we’re going to change that now?” I ask, mostly to
keep the conversation going.
“Well Dear.” Tejana says. “You at least have already
begun to change that. We want to learn from you. We should
learn from you. We want to know how you did what you did.
We want to know what more should be done. We want to
know how to do it.”
“I’m not sure you really want to know.” I said. “Do you
really want to know, Virgen Maria? Do the rest of you really
want to know? Or are we just going to have another Wiccan
lesbian mother earth orgy where we admire each other’s
boobs and pussies and say to each other how wonderful we all
are because we all have boobs and pussies and how men are
really all just jealous of us because we have boobs and pussies.
For God’s sake, there isn’t a man on earth that would want to
trade places with any of us.”
“I already know.” The Virgen Maria says. “You forget, I
am immortal. I ascended into heaven. I sitteth at the right
hand of the Father. I intercede for mortal man. Blah blah blah
blah.”
“You don’t know shit.” I say, and after I say it I can’t
believe such words have left my mouth. But I continue. “Tell
her, Rosaria. Tell her she doesn’t know the hundredth of what
she thinks she knows.”
“Pequeña is correct.” Rosaria says.
“Do you really want to know, Skyler?” I ask.
“Yes I do.” Skyler says. “More than ever.”
“What about you? I ask Tejana. “Do you want to
know?”
“I think I already know.” Tejana says. “But then, I have
never been shot, and spent the whole night near death,
bleeding into the sand near a Saguaro cactus.”
“And you have never been rescued by a white Sonoran
wolf bitch.” Rosaria says.
“I’ve never even met a white wolf bitch.” Says Tejana.
“Except maybe for Skyler here.”
Skyler doesn’t look up, but I can see the corners of her
mouth twitch… into a smile, and then disappear in a follow‐up
twitch. Can it be Skyler is becoming cool?
“Enough about me.” Skyler says, still not looking up.
“What does our Pequeña have in mind?”
“All of you stand up.” I say.
They all stand up.
“All of you take off all of your clothes.” I say.
“My kind of party.” Tejana says. “A Latina lesbian
party, and, oh yeah, one white wolf bitch.”
“Not exactly.” Rosaria says.
“Everything off?” Skyler checks.
“Everything off.” I say.
I walk to a door, grab a bundle vacuum wrapped in
plastic, and throw it to Tejana. She catches it effortlessly. I
throw one to Skyler. It goes through her hands, hits her ample
mammary apparati, and then lands on the floor. She bends
over to pick it up, and I notice Tejana noticing. Then a bundle
to the Virgen Maria. A bundle to Rosaria. I keep the last
bundle.
‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐<>{}<>‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐
The dresses I hand out are made of linen from
Guatemala.
I think it appropriate – somehow. The linen is
handcrafted, and it is fair trade fabric. It is spun by native
women from flax grown in Guatemala.
The
dresses have been sown by the woman who had
helped me clean up the stalled cattle truck. She is from
Guatemala also. It has taken forever for her to tell me her
name, as if she thinks somehow it should remain a secret. If
anyone knew her real name, she might get sent back, she had
told me, and she had come too far, seen too much, been hurt
too much, to go back home now.
“My name is Celia.” She eventually says, as she works
at the sewing machine. There is no electricity, she works a
large footpedal with one foot til it gets tired, and then she
uses the other foot.
“When we go to the desert,” I tell her “I want the
women wearing no more than these. I want the garments
kept simple, little more than linen bags, with holes cut for
neck and arms.”
But Celia has resorted to some old time‐honored
pattern. The pattern comes not from a book or purchased
pattern kit, but from her head. She makes each dress without
having taken measurements of each woman. She has
measured with her eyes and her intuition. The neck and arm
openings, and the hems, are finished with white satin, and
there is white lace in the “V” slit of each dress’s neck. Each
dress is cinched slightly at the waist, but ample enough at bust
and hips to allow for each woman’s figure. Each dress is
intended to reach just above each woman’s knees. Celia had
relied on a mental picture of each woman’s height and build.
The “white woman”, Celia’s name for Skyler, is the
tallest and slimmest. Tejana is the most “sex‐ee”, as Celia puts
it, “built like a real woman should be”.
“I looked like that when I was young.” Celia says. “God,
how I drove the boys wild.”
Celia gets out her shoebox. She has braided for each
woman a linen rope with knotted tassel ends, and she hands
each woman the one intended for her, depending on body
shape.
“To tie about your waists.” She says.
As each woman unwraps and puts on her dress, more
of Celia’s work is evident. Going by what Celia knows of each
woman’s name, there is over her left breast her embroidered
initials.
“There is one more dress.” Celia says. “It is to the back
of the shelf.”
“Who for…?” I start to say, and then I realize. “You are
coming with us, aren’t you?”
I get her dress, hand it to her, she unwraps it
ceremoniously, and she puts it on. It has none of the satin, or
lace, or fine work of the other dresses. I start to ask why, but
she puts her finger to my lips.
“My glory days are gone.” She says softly. “You are all
the beautiful ones now.”
How wrong you are
, I think to myself.
fishing
day in the Rio Colorado. Surprise? There are trout in the
Colorado River in Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and
California. Why shouldn’t there be trout in it where it flowed
through Mexico? At least in Mexico the trout don’t have to put
up with the obstacle course of dams, like they do in the U. S.
Bo’s
favorite trout is the cutthroat throat, in all its
variations. It is called a cutthroat because it has red gills, and
sometimes red markings on its lower jaw, making it look as if
the jaw is cut and bleeding. Bo has fished for Green Back
Cutthroat in Colorado’s front range, Rio Grande Cutthroat in
the Great River, Snake River Cutthroat in the Grand Tetons,
and Yellowstone Cutthroat Trout. He has also fished for
Browns and Brookies, and Rainbows. He once caught a
Palomino Rainbow Trout, and thought about keeping it and
having it mounted. Then he considered how the Palomino
Rainbow is a very rare albino trout. He released it after taking
a quick snap pic.
Today
Bo is after Cut‐Bows, which he has taken a
particular liking to. “Half‐breeds”, he calls them, as they are a
hybrid between a Cutthroat and Rainbow. If you let Bo buy
you a beer and thank him by letting him tell you all about
flyfishing and trout, Bo will tell you more than you ever
wanted to know.
He
is fishing on a section of the river between the
villages of Sonora and El Indiviso, about 10 desert kilometers
from Rt. 3. I did not know Bo was fishing, because, at the time,
I was dealing with problems of my own. But I knew Bo went
there often, because this place is sacred to him. The Rio
Colorado, after flowing through all the States in the U. S.,
makes its way into Mexico, and flows then into the Gulf of
California. Bo’s people, the Seri, had, and still have, deep ties
to both bodies of water, and the Pacific Ocean and Pacific Rim.