The Dog Fighter (26 page)

But after lunch an old woman with small steps and white hair crossed the square from the door of the building Javier told me was hers. The old woman entered the café and looked me in the eyes as if she knew why I was there. But she did not.

Señora. The old man stood from his seat at the counter where he was reading his newspaper. Buenas tardes. He bowed to her.

Good afternoon. She said.

The mans wife came from the back carrying a towel wrapped around several warm flaky pastries covered with sugar.

How is the señorita? The old man asked.

Singing. The old woman smiled. Always singing.

Then she turned and was gone.

Javier had not betrayed me. I left the café after this. My head filled with thoughts of her beautiful voice.

When I returned to the dentists there was a note for me saying that Cantana wanted to meet in the plaza for breakfast the next morning.

The man who brought this was carrying a gun. Jorge said.

Elías? I asked.

He did not leave his name.

Did he threaten you?

No.

Later sitting on the edge of my bed I listened to the dentist climbing the stairs to my room and I knew that it would mean nothing good.

I respect you dog fighter. He said. And I like you as a friend. But I worry for my mother. For myself and Javier.

I nodded in silence.

Javier will not tell me what is wrong. He has begged me not to send you away. Understand that he also values your friendship.

I will not be here long Jorge. I said without thinking whether or not this was true.

I worry for my mother. He explained.

I understand.

After the dentist left my room I sat on the bed holding the note. I was exhausted but I knew I would not be able to sleep that night.

Then meet with him tomorrow. Guillermo said when I went to the salon that evening with the note. The veteran sat in front of his shop while the young men worked at the workbenches behind him. The poet not with us but working at his stall in the market. Wait until night before coming back here to tell us what occurred. Guillermo continued. If he offers you work. You take it. No matter what he tells you to do.

I awoke the next morning surprised that I had slept some. Still I did not feel rested. The raspy sound of the woman sweeping the courtyard did not wake me but the commotion of many voices. Trumpets and guitars on the street. I followed these musicians to the plaza mayor where women decorated the large square with green and white and red tissue paper. Small children stood below the trees watching some of the boys from the canoes climb out on the limbs with the paper. One boy pretended to lose his balance and his mother yelled at him and the children laughed knowing that he was pretending and then laughed at him for the scolding he received. The lampposts around the gazebo woven in twirls of these colors.

White for religion. My father had taught me. Green for our independence. Red for the blood of the Europeans mixed with your own.

Little girls in bleached white dresses chased one another over the stones barefoot. Hawks and Xantus hummingbirds embroidered into the hems of their skirts and blouses. A boy came up to the girls holding a lizard by its tail. The lizard dangled between them until it came free of its tail and fell to the stones and scurried off. The boy held the writhing tail with two fingers between himself and the screaming girls. At a rectangular table behind this Cantana sat raising a match to his cigarillo with his gloved hand. We looked each other in the eyes his behind his sunglasses and he nodded for me to join him.

You look as if you had a long night my friend. He gestured with his hand for me to sit.

I did not know what to say. A waiter brought two small cups of coffee to our table. On his tray was a tall skinny bottle from which he poured some liqueur into Cantanas cup. I refused. Cantana smiled.

Ramón told me you were not one for the alcohol. The businessman stirred his coffee with a tiny spoon. His tiny finger out. Still I did not know how to answer so I only looked at my coffee and sipped. He also told me how quiet you can be.

Yes. I said while trying to smell her perfume on him.

After this we sat in silence for several minutes looking over the plaza. Cantana did not seem uncomfortable with my quiet. We watched children run with handfuls of candy. Old men positioned themselves on the empty benches early in the day. Our waiter leaned against the column of the building checking on us now and then. Drowsy.

What do you like the best about Canción? Cantana asked me then.

I looked at my hands.

The food? The view from the malecón at sunrise? Swimming in the water of the sea? Our beautiful women? He laughed. There must be something. I know that you are not like these other dog fighters we have here. It is easy to know what they like. But you. I see something different in you.

He was quiet then. I looked for his eyes behind the sunglasses. He took his cigarillo down from his lips and the smoke came evenly from his mouth when he exhaled.

Come with me. He said then very suddenly. I want to show you something.

Parked down the street from the plaza was the black limousine. The small pickpocket from the market sat on a box nearby with his little arms crossed and his face looking very serious. Other children from the market watched him from an open door. Cantana gave the small pickpocket a handful of different coins and he smiled gratefully. As it was with Javier I knew to pretend that I did not know the boy and he did the same with me.

Have you ever driven one of these? Cantana asked.

No. I answered

He threw me the keys over the top of the shiny black roof.

I am lazy. He smiled. And I have been drinking some. Take us for a drive. I insist.

Cantana opened the back door of the limousine and waved for the children to climb into the backseat. They did this laughing and jumping. Cantana invited the small pickpocket to sit with us in the front. He sat on his heels to be able see over the dashboard. With some little directions from Cantana I brought the car into the middle of the street. I had driven some in Northern California but I was out of practice and the ride was jerky. Cantana and the children laughed at this. I could not help but smile also. Cantana laughed more than any of us when I accidentally ran the front tire of the passenger side up onto the sidewalk and then down over a melon in the gutter.

Soon though we had driven from the busy streets around the plaza filled with people coming down for the festival and headed out to the road that curved around the bay along the malecón. The children ate candy in the backseat that Cantana had me stop for. The pickpocket sat quietly between us. His eyes darting back and forth over all that we passed. His nose dripping. I enjoyed driving the limousine. At one time I had the window down and was steering with only one hand. I did not drive very fast and now and then I let the small pickpocket honk the horn at a burro or an old woman who cursed at us because the noise had startled her. Cantana tipped an imaginary cap in her direction. His cigarillo dangling at the corner of his thin smile.

I love this city. He said to me then. When I was young I went away for several years. Not that I am old now but when I left I was very young. Very stubborn. I wanted to see what else there was of this world. Do you understand?

Yes. I answered.

I did not respect my home much then. He continued. I wanted what most young men want. To get a taste of the world. The places and people. The women. So I went to the north. Tijuana. Mexicali. This was when there was much to be made for bringing alcohol into the United States. I worked for un contrabandista. Bootlegger en inglés. But I was smarter than he was and soon I had his business. Cantana paused. His eyes on me. The small pickpocket looked at me also. Do you think I killed this man? Cantana asked me then.

I looked at Cantana for a moment. I was not driving very fast.

No. I answered.

It does not matter that I did not. People will say what they will say and stories are meant to grow. We say men are demons without ever knowing them. I said this about the men of Canción when I returned with my money and I know this is what the young men who make these attacks on the hotel say of me now.

I did not look in Cantanas direction when he said this even though I no longer felt his eyes on me. As we drove north toward the hotel slowly along the malecón Cantana suggested the small pickpocket sit in my lap and steer. The boy was very careful. Very focused as Cantana directed him on how to steer. At one point Cantana leaned back some to where the boy could not see him and indicated with his gloved hand that I speed up. But the small pickpocket was not scared. He bit his lower lip in concentration. The streets going from the hotel became very narrow and bumpy. The children in the backseat were laughing. The small pickpocket was fearless. I regretted giving him my switchblade. When I slowed the limousine he sat on his heels between us again. If I failed the old men this boy would grow to fight Cantana one day.

Muy bien. Cantana tousled his hair. Muy bien.

It was afternoon by this time. When we went out toward the hills I had walked so many times with the poet several of the children were asleep in the backseat. Cantana said nothing but seemed to be enjoying the sharp rocks that were delicate along the hills looking as if they were ready to fall. Soon we passed the last of the peasants trickling down from the hills dressed in their best clothes. Children riding burros.

Slow to keep the dust down. Cantana told me to do and I did.

On our way back into the city the sun lowered over the bay. The small pickpocket had fallen asleep with his head against the businessmans shoulder.

You told me that you worked on the hotel. Cantana said when we neared the plaza.

Yes.

What did you do?

I worked the crane. Lifting the beams and posts for the scaffolding. Cinder blocks for the inside walls.

You did this by yourself?

Yes.

Then you are as strong as they say.

I remained silent.

Do you understand why Rodríguez was killed?

Yes. I answered.

Do you understand why I wanted you to accompany Ramón and Vargas that day?

Yes. I answered but the businessman continued.

I cannot have men like that working for me. I do not want men like that in this city.

I brought the limousine to a stop in the same place where we left just down the street from the plaza. All the children were asleep in the car with us. Cantana lit another cigarillo as he spoke.

I said earlier that I love Canción. He continued. When I came back from Mexicali with the money I had earned I convinced others in this city that we needed an electrical station. It took us two years to build but we built it. And it is a good power station. One that will not need to be replaced for years. The streets are more safe with the light. Then we built better wells and a better sewer system. One that would one day be able to support the hotel. I had a vision you see? After this we helped to pave some of the streets. To make it easier to get vegetables and meat to the markets. And all this? All this was work for the men and women of Canción. You have seen some of Mexico?

I nodded.

Do we have the poverty here of other cities our size? No. Cantana answered himself. We are fortunate to be a hidden city. But this work cannot last long. There is only so much we can do to improve the city without being paid back. Returned our money to invest it in new ways in Canción. The hotel will turn this city into what I know it can be. The tourists will bring their money to help us build our schools. To get all the children and not just the children of the businessmen in schools. We will build a better hospital. There is much we can do. But others want to destroy this. He paused for a moment while a group of colorfully dressed young men with instruments passed onto the large square. They want for this city to stay untouched. To remain as it is. For as much as they complain they do not want to end this division between the businessmen and the poor. They do not want to make the sacrifices that have to be made. They put my name on the walls. Curse my mother. They write Viva Canción! Canción por los Cancioneros. They call me un muñeco. Say I am a puppet to the American investors. But I say we can use our rich neighbors to the north. We can allow them to come down here and fish in our waters. Sleep in our hotels. And with the money we will make this city better. We will educate our children and they will provide better educations for their children and with time my friend after you and I are dead Mexico will come into its own. Cantana lowered his voice then. Tell me something dog fighter. Have you ever met a skinny priest?

These were the poets words exactly.

In Mexico we have God and money. Both are very powerful. Many have one but only a few have both. My dream is not for every person to be rich. Not for every person to be able to buy their way to heaven. But for every person of Canción to live in a home. And yes to work at the hotel if that is necessary to have it. Look around. This is heaven. And yes. I am trying to sell it. We are a hidden city and with this we have limited resources. Remember we are in the desert here. A desolate peninsula. But we have great beauty also. And it is our beauty that we will use to the advantage of our people. Canción will be por los Cancioneros. We will be the model for the rest of Mexico.