Finally, we came to our senses and started to realize the gravity of our endeavor and decided it was not going to have a good ending.
“Go home, get lost, and don’t breathe a word to anyone about what went on here tonight,” George told the crowd. Everybody’s T-shirts and pants were filthy with mud. George, Albert, and I looked like sewer workers at the 5:00 p.m. whistle.
How were we gonna get in the house past the ladies playing canasta and sipping good wine?
We made our way back to where the servants lived, and they laughed when they saw us creep in.
“Help us. What can we do?”
First off, we removed our T-shirts, and then we took off our pants, leaving our undies on. Then the old man took the hose to us and handed us a bar of soap. We scrubbed up real well, with our whitey tighties wringing wet. We peeled ’em off under the protection of towels wrapped firmly about our waists. The lot of clothes were hand-washed in the basin and tossed in the clothes dryer while once again we sat down for some delicious tacos.
Our clothes finally dry, we made our way stealthily into the house, making sure the women saw that we were clean as a whistle. Aunt Lorenza asked us where we had been, and we told her that we were at the picture show a few blocks away. Now it was time to get in bed for the night. We snickered as we recounted to each other the most memorable moments of the evening, nervously awaiting the impending shrieks of horror and the third degree that we knew was coming.
Those old crones just didn’t want to stop playing cards, and we were starting to fall asleep, fighting it all the while. Maybe an hour or so had passed, and we were just starting to drift off into a nice little slumber when the bedroom door flew open and Uncle Jorge entered the room. He was livid as he yelled out our names and, in gutter Spanish, started asking us what in the hell we boys did. Innocent us, we acted befuddled and asked him as to what on earth he was talking about.
“What possessed you to do what you did to that old lady’s car?”
George responded, “We were at the movies. What are you talking about?”
Now I guess before I entered these boys’ lives, they never lied to their papa, because he kind of half-heartedly believed us. We asked if we could go see what and where he was talking about.
We put on our freshly laundered clothes and followed him out the front door. There before our eyes was this pile of mud that looked about the size of a brontosaurus’s dung heap. We broke out laughing and saying we hadn’t seen it due to coming home through the back alley from the movies. George and Albert really sold it by going back and forth with suspicious guesses as to who might have been the culprits.
Uncle Jorge was calming down now, and he asked George if the clothes he had on were the same ones he had on all night. He even leaned down for a whiff to see if there was any sign of perspiration on his boys. Still, I could tell that he harbored some suspicions about what went on. He even cracked a small laugh now, sensing that maybe we weren’t responsible and acknowledging that it was indeed some funny stuff.
The boys and I went back into the bedroom and lay down to sleep. We could still hear Uncle Jorge insisting to the mayor’s wife that his boys were not involved and that he would pay the cost of a complete cleaning since it was in front of his home. Our bedroom window was near the street side of the house, and naturally, we were huddled up against it, able to hear all that was going on.
Of course, the police were called, and they took down a report. We could hear them holding back laughter as they inspected the sight. The mayor’s wife held a lot of power, so they dared not make any sport of the event. Uncle Jorge drove the ladies home, while the police still milled around, now free to laugh and crack jokes about their boss’s wife. We milked it for all it was worth then fell off into a deep slumber.
Uncle Jorge didn’t go to school just to eat lunch and play at recess; he was a smart cookie.
The morning sun cracked through the window, and we were up and ready to face the new day. As I passed Uncle Jorge’s office, I overheard him on a call with my father.
“You’ll never guess what those damn boys did last night!” He continued on, relating to my dad, asking, “Who thinks of shit like that?” I guess my dad laughed on the other end of the phone because Jorge told him it wasn’t funny as he broke into a small laugh as well.
Deep down and given the experiences my dad had with me, he probably had a strong suspicion that I had to be involved. I heard Jorge say that he couldn’t accept my dad splitting the cleaning cost, but I guess my dad insisted. I sneaked back to the room where George and Albert were and told them that their father somehow knew.
“How could that be?” we asked one another.
I would guess that the old man who lived in the back and ran many of the house affairs was put on the hot seat, having to give us up to his master. I couldn’t blame him; he had been there for years and had a good relationship with the house.
I’ll also bet he begged Uncle Jorge not to let on that he gave us up. He watched over the boys since infancy and did not want to lose any of their trust. So it was up to Uncle Jorge to figure out another way of letting us know how he discovered the truth. Aunt Lorenza looked at me a little differently now—a mother knows the ways of her boys—and she had been noticing a slight difference since their first coming to my town and meeting me. She still loved me though because I was bringing out some new type of soul in her boys, and they were blurting out various tidbits of English that they were learning. They were also displaying a new elevated level of happiness since they met me, and that always pleases a mother.
Chapter 13
The Mansion on the Hill
The new day had to be filled with something new and exciting as us boys could not be held down. George suggested we go to the country club and play golf. I didn’t have the foggiest idea of how to play golf, but hey, I didn’t know how to ride a horse yesterday, much less go for an eighteen-mile trek riding one through hell’s canyon. So golf, oh hell yeah, I’ll give it a go. The house chauffeur drove us out to the county club and dropped us all off, instructing us to call him when we wanted to come home.
George and Albert gave me some brief instructions, and then we teed up the little pills and hacked our way down the fairways. We laughed as we left one green looking like an Iraqi minefield with all the divots. We placed all the grass clumps back in place and stomped them down. I guess the next party would have a hell of a time lining up a good putt.
We wrapped up nine holes and made our way back to the patio to sip some ice-cold Cokes and eat Fritos soaked in Tabasco sauce.
That was when I caught notice and, for the first time in days, gave any thought to the dance hall that stood off in the distance atop a small hill.
The terrain around the building was barren and devoid of any growth that I could tell. That was when I popped the question as to what that building was. Albert said that it was an old dance hall that had been abandoned and left to ruin over thirty years ago. Nobody gave it any thought anymore, and it held no interest to anyone. It was just there. The roof was collapsed and missing, with the doors having been removed left it exposed to the elements over the years.
I just had to go have a look-see at this old battered building, all the while recalling my father’s words to me before I left.
I threw all caution to the wind as I could feel some mystical force daring me to climb up that dusty road and forego the promise I made to my father.
The boys could care less about the building, and it held no attraction to walking