“Happy-Go-Lucky Jerry”
I was sitting in the tiny three-post market in Talagaya de Porfirio Diaz getting breakfast. I said to the tamale lady, Yeah three with quesillo and a hot cocoa, on the double. The tamale lady had one post where she sold hot food, then there was the meat lady to her left, and on the other side the chicken man. That was the entire market, gravel on clay with concrete counters and a tin roof. Over one of my shoulders loomed the seventeenth century church, casting us into deep shade. So the table with scabs of food on the plastic cloth and plastic stools where I sat was situated half in and half out of the shadow of The Conquest like the rest of the town. It was chilly that morning but the sun was bright and hot. The meat lady wore an apron and sat in a plastic chair doing needlework. No one even said hola to her because then you would have to buy her meat (beef or pork). Very dangerous, life in the pueblo! The chicken man formed part of the local motorcycle gang, local roughnecks who rode tiny little Italika motorcycles, two or three guys to a bike, who were decent family men. Fine, you got me, they were very far from roughnecks.
Today the chicken guy was running late, despite having no customers, and sent his happy-go-lucky boy Jerry, an eight-year-old chubbo with chocolate smears all over his mouth and shirt, to get breakfast with the tamale lady at the table where I sat rubbing my hands and shivering in the shade of, to be honest, centuries.
Jerry said, rubbing up against me, Hi I am Jerry, what’s your name?
I said to the tamale lady, Yes, three steak memelas with salsa and vegetable por favor.
Jerry had snot running out of one nostril that he sniffed back in with a deliberate movement. He did it like he was Burt Reynolds on TV. Hovering over me, breathing right in my face after smacking his lips, he said, Are you on vacation?
I said to the tamale lady, Yes, tons of vegetable! Pile it on, hurry!
Jerry scooted closer and said, Well it sure looks like you are on vacation! We always eat the almuerzo at 10 on vacation but all other times of the year at 8, too early! We are on vacation at my school because they won’t let us go back during Christmas. Jerry said, The teachers told me that, also my mom. My mom knows the teachers.
I said to the tamale lady, Yes the red salsa, on the double. Milk for the cocoa. No rush!
Jerry leaned in truly close to me now, breathing on the side of my plate so it steamed, doing it again and chuckling, screwing up his fat eyes, and said, Is that salsa hot?
He said, I like salsas that burn. Man your salsa is making me STARVING. I could murder a pile of tacos with your salsa!
Jerry said to the tamale lady, Do you have TACOS?
The tamale lady dissented with only the very slightest movement of her head, as she pressed a tortilla like it was the wheezing chest of her dying abuelito.
To the tamale lady Jerry bellowed, Can you make me one entomatada, red? Not green, I like them red! Bring it to me here where I sit, on the double.
Swiveling back to me where I was ignoring him, killing himself chuckling, Jerry said, So what church do you go to?
I tried to tell Jerry that I did not believe in but Jerry said, Golly, we have church on Saturdays. Can you believe that? There are more than twenty-five kids in my school but some of them are little kids. Do those count?
Jerry’s dad over there at the chicken stand shifted around some crates with jangly rubbery chicken feet sticking out of them, then shouted something and hopped on his iron warhorse with two other guys who appeared magically, from nowhere.
They peeled out of the market in a spray of gravel, leaving Jerry to work the crowd.
That’s my dad, said Jerry. We work every day except Saturday. We sell chickens. Well sometimes we do. Sometimes they go faster than Spider-man. What do you sell? I mean what do you do?
I swallowed 1 memela and said, I am a teacher. I teach little shits when it is appropriate to speak to their elders, and when to mind their own fucking business.
Jerry’s eyes got really wide. YOU are a teacher? he shouted, then stuck a finger into my salsa, swiped, and got a bunch of it up onto his mouth, splattering my plate and the plastic tablecloth with his spit.
Auugh! shouted Jerry, jumping and writhing, Virgin of Guadalupe it is hot! His wounds but I am so hungry!
Enfrijolada querías? said the tamale lady between tortillas, getting Jerry’s order wrong.
No, said Jerry, I said entomatada old lady, I do not even like enfrijoladas.
With vegetable?
With vegetable, confirmed Jerry with a huge grin, sitting opposite me now, where I was still chewing, clasping his hands on the table in anticipation of the world’s most entertaining repast.
No, Jerry shouted over his shoulder after one second, no vegetable!
Jerry turned back and said to me, What is vegetable?
The tamale lady sighed, tortilla ball in one hand, and said, Today the vegetable is parsley.
Jerry’s eyes got huge again.
Jerry said, What is parsley? Is that like lettuce? No no I got it! He shouted, It is like cabbage! Yuck!
I said, Try it, you’ll like it. It’s similar to cilantro.
Give me some parsley! Jerry shouted, twisting his entire chocolate-stained babyfat torso to get his lips as close to the tamale lady as possible without moving from his seat. He squealed, Bring me the vegetable on my food! and then turned back to me with laugh and said, So are you Catholic or what?
I said to the tamale lady, I think I am done here. That was truly good food, for a Tuesday.
The tamale lady just smiled ferociously deep down inside.
Jerry said, Do you think pets go to heaven? Then he said, I used to have a goose. Jerry said, What do gooses eat in heaven, just corn? Have you been to the pond here, do you consider it be a big one or a small one? I think it is humongous. Are dogs or cats better? Where do the street dogs drink water? Just out of the puddles, or does some grandma put out water for them?
He said, Hey, are you listening to my questions?
I opened my mouth to speak but Jerry was faster, as his dad and motorcycle roughnecks came skidding back into the market, shredding the gravel as they came to a stop, two of the guys falling off while cradling two 60-count flats of eggs, pasting us with a film of dust.
Jerry said to me, What is your name?
Jerry said, Were you at the wedding where the guy died?
I said, I have only been living here for a short time, kid.
Jerry said, He fell right over and aaack! Why do you live here now? Did you get in trouble in your country? Where are you from, England? Is England far away? How big is England? Do people eat memelitas in England or what do they eat? Do people have motorcycles in England vroooom-rooom over there? Do you know motorcycles? My dad has one. I prefer cars. Trucks I mean. Do you like movies? I usually just watch videos on my phone.
Jerry’s entomatada, literally just one entomatada, was placed before him. He immediately picked up the sprig of parsley garnish, wrinkled his nose, and threw it onto the ground.
Jerry stuffed a huge bite of tortilla and red sauce mush into his mouth, said, Yuuuuuummmm! and then asked me
But you get the picture.
Colin Gee is founder and editor of The Gorko Gazette, teacher and writer. Stories and novellas in The Penult with LEFTOVER Books.
REVOLUTION JOHN. 