Red was a real cool dude, and I guess he was hired right after the Korean conflict, where I’ll bet he kicked some major ass in his Sabrejet. He had me ride up front and let me hold the steering wheel. I was the king of the world.
It had to happen though. Murphy’s law just had to rear its head. It was not going to let me enjoy one of the highlights of my life. First, it started with what I would call a little toot, but one that could peel paint. There was no hiding the noxious odor, and I had no response to Red’s semismile. Jet pilots go through this all the time, so I was not shocking him in the least.
He merely cracked his little side window. But, O Lord, here comes that unmistakable feeling that knows no control. I was pinching my butt cheeks so hard I could have cracked a walnut.
I could not sit up front any longer; the mess would have caused an air disaster of epic proportions. I unbuckled my seat harness and flew down the aisle to the rear of the plane, passing the men playing cards as they sipped good scotch. I recalled a tube in the small luggage closet, which I gathered was only meant for tinkling. I was praying that this tube, under a certain set of circumstances, could accommodate some other type of liquid if absolutely necessary. Alberto finally caught a whiff of the noxious, repulsive odor of what was going on, and I’ve gotta say, he was not pleased at all. I got to hear what some official down-home cussing in the King’s Spanish was like. I was desperate and in pain from holding in what was pounding at the gates of Troy to bust out.
I reached for the handle of the door and was going to moon it and probably give the plane a fresh coat of paint when Alberto shrieked and stopped me before I had a chance to be sucked out into space. Later, I learned that only planes with pressurized cabins would have you sucked out if you opened a door. Whew, anyway.
Alberto found a big brown paper bag that would have to act as my latrine, and that was a messy but welcomed adventure.
Thank God he had access to one of his many colognes. He splashed the bottle about the cabin like the pope blessing the troops. I can’t say I blamed him; I even allowed him the liberty of grabbing the waist of my pants and dousing the blaze in my butt cheeks.
We had another ten minutes of flying time, and the flight couldn’t be over soon enough. As it turned out, Red thought the episode was one of the funniest things that ever happened to him. He thought Alberto was a pain in the ass like so many others did. Even his brother Jorge had to tolerate him all his life, and I think he was thanking me down inside.
When my father got the news from Uncle Jorge, my mother, as I found out later, said my dad had burst out laughing on the phone. Apparently, it was karma that was long overdue.
Chapter 11
Hermosillo
My friends George and Albert greeted me with big grins and made me feel instantly welcome. They were practically in hysterics later when they found out about their Uncle Alberto and the flight from Arizona. They, too, felt him to be a giant pain, and they knew his delicate foo-foo mannerisms oh too well.
We got to George’s house, and I was blown away at how luxurious it was. I can still conjure up the aromas that permeated the house from the exotic woods throughout. First stop was my Uncle Jorge’s man cave, where there in his refrigerator was an endless supply of Cokes and beers.
After a tour of the digs, we were whisked out the back door to where the help resided. I met them all and treated them as my equals, which really surprised them. George instructed an older woman to fix us up a mess of vittles because we were hungry. Given the delicateness of my stomach, I wasn’t so sure about eating even though my stomach was starting to growl something fierce. That was probably the clue that inspired George to summon up some chow.
Was it good, you ask? I still, to this day, cannot recall better flavors from Mexican cuisine than what this old woman put together. I treated her like a queen thereafter, fussing about her and calling her nana. That made her day, although my friends did tell me to cool it a bit and to not elevate them above their stations.
This trip was going to be the best four days of my life for a very long time.
No sooner and once my luggage was set down in the bedroom, George hurried me along to the outside where two saddled horses were waiting for us. I had never ridden before, but George assured me that it wouldn’t take long for me to get the hang of it.
George let me ride his horse Triumfeño, which, I was told, nobody was ever allowed to ride. George rode his brother Albert’s horse Alazan.
We started out walking through the neighborhoods to the outskirts of town, all the while George instructing me about my getting the commands down on how to operate this new machine.
Once we were out in the country, the horses cut loose, and I was at a full gallop like the Lone Ranger, not a care in the world as we went through dry riverbeds and open desert land. Thinking back, if either one of us had fallen off and broken something, we would have been up a creek without a paddle. We were out in the woods, and nobody would hear the girlish screams I would have undoubtedly shrieked out. Not a chance though, as we continued on our way out to the coast where we ran the horses along the empty beach. We stopped and dismounted for a quick run into the cool surf, cooling off and having the best time ever. I will never forget that day as long as I live.
We mounted up and headed back inland a few kilometers to the family ranchito. Nothing super luxurious but still well-appointed with all the simple amenities. The different members of the Gutierrez families had an escape to the country and beach whenever they needed a break from counting their money or when they got tired of the rest of the world.
The ranch hands that kept watch on the property gathered up the horses as we sat down to another great eating experience. It was becoming quite clear to me that I didn’t want to go back to the States. I had found my roots, and it was then that I finally grew to love the fact that I was a Mexican.
After the good meal, we got into a jeep and were driven back to the house for a nice air-conditioned nap. Excuse me, siesta. My Spanish was getting better as the days wore on. After the evening meal, George, Albert, and I made it out into the streets where a multitude of urchins were starting to assemble as darkness covered the scene. I soon learned that nighttime play was the same for kids in any country on earth. I met so many of George and Albert’s friends I couldn’t believe it. Many of the kids were from homes of much lower stations, but it made no difference at all. Just like my group back home, all that was required was a willingness to belong and be a friend.
You would have thought I was Elvis Presley the way these kids introduced themselves to me. Apparently, George and Albert had regaled them with stories of their visit to Tucson and about this new phenomenal friend they now had.
Well, I was there, and I was fixing to introduce them to a new kind of hell.
Chapter 12
The Mud Ball Sedan
It was a rainy night, and most of the streets were dirt roadways. Now a bit of mud was starting to take shape, and kids, especially a good eleven of them, were not going to let that go untouched. As luck would have it that night, it was canasta night with the ladies, and George’s mother had a couple of upper-crust gal pals over for the evening. One of the gals who drove the two other players over was the mayor’s wife. She had a 1952 Chevrolet Convertible, which she parked in front of George’s house.
It largely went unnoticed until one of the mud balls, meant for one of the kids, missed him and hit the car. Everyone gasped in horror.
“Oh no, look at what you’ve done,” one boy said.
Now me, being the miscreant that I was back then, was not going to let a good opportunity go to waste. I quickly fashioned a mud ball and flung it at this heap.
“There,” I said, “who they gonna blame