Eustacio Medeles is a young friend who lives in the tiny pueblo of Taixtlan. An ancient Indian farming village, Taixtlan has a single main street that is cobbled, except in the rainy season when it is mostly mud, no motion picture theater, no PEMEX station, no supermercado, no permanent bull ring, no police, no bandstand in its tiny plaza, not even a single cantina.
For amusement
For amusement of the males of the village, there sometimes is a pool hall. Don Alfonso Esparza, a bent, arthritic man of nearly 70, opens his billares seemingly at whim--when he needs money badly, whenever his back and legs don't pain him, sometimes when he wants someone to talk to.
The "action"
The "action" in Taixtlan usually centers, in the evening, on Elpedio Serna's Abarrotes La Fortuna, where Don 'Pedio sells beer and, illegally, deciliters of alcohol, which he carefully pours from squat tin botes into bottles of tepid Sidral and Coca Cola.
Eustacio, who is 19, spends a lot of his evenings at La Fortuna. What he and several of his companions are doing there is learning to drink.
Un Tragito
We were visiting Eustacio and his family recently, and after a cena of sopes and pozole, he took me aside and, dropping his voice to a deep place in his chest, invited me--in a decidedly "man-to-man" way--down to the Fortuna for un tragito--a drink. Since Eustacio has, at times, worked for us, this was done with a great deal of formality. I accepted, of course, and as we stepped along the narrow, muddy stream that flows down the pueblo's main street during this time of year, I asked him if his father would be there. Señor Medeles had politely excused himself as soon as we had finished cena. I had the impression that gringos made him uncomfortable. Country people, I've noticed, often become uneasy in the presence of strangers, especially foreigners.
Killing the rains
"No, señor. He went to talk to the other older men. They talk about the delegado (mayor) over in Palo Gordo who everyone says is a thief, and about the crops and the little rain that has come this year."
"It looks like there's been lots of rain." I nodded to the muddy street.
"That was yesterday. Before that we hadn't had any rain for 15 days. My father and others, señor, say that the cohetes (rockets) of your government and of the Russians are killing the rains, are disturbing the clouds." This was a long speech for Eustancio, and because it contained a criticism, he became restless, wrinkling his nose and shifting his shoulders. "Maybe it's only gossip, but still...there's been little rain."
Un jaibol Sidral
Happily, we arrived at The Fortune before there was time to think of a response to that. Eustacio led me directly in one of two well-rusted metal Tres Equis tables crowded in front of the store's counter. "Do you prefer Cerveza Superior or alcohol with Coca or with Sidral?" he asked formally.
"Un jaibol Sidral, por favor." I'd never had a Sidral highball before and this seemed the proper time to experiment.
Eustacio smiled at the word "jaibol" and ordered for us both from Don Elpedio. We wiped the tops of our bottles carefully, said "Salud," and Eustacio downed most of his Coke in a single swig.
Jefe
With our third drink, Eustacio introduced me to the owner of La Fortuna, who politely declined a drink, but pulled up a hard-used, hand-hewn wooden chair and accepted a cigarette. When asked, he allowed that business was not really very good. The cause of this, he said flatly, was the "Cuckolding politicos and oficiales and their devaluation and their ceaseless price increases."
"THEY raise the prices?" I asked.
"They cause them to be raised," said Don 'Pedio.
"Of course," Eustacio agreed jauntily. "Everybody knows that. Let us have some more of your petroleo, jefe."
"Jefe," Don Elpedio snorted. He stood and went behind his counter.
Eustacio grinned sheepishly. "He is my father's cousin. Everybody in this pueblito is related. He wants me to call him tio, but when we drink here, we all call him jefe."
Eustacio was turning out to be a big talker under the influence of alcohol jaibols.
"But why call him jefe?"
"Because he has always wanted to be the comandante of the police here."
"Are there really policemen in Taixtlan?"
"Not a one," Eustacio said, laughing so hard he bumped his head on the table. "That is very funny, no?"
"This one is becoming a clown," Don 'Pedio said, putting down our drinks. He took his seat and lit a wrinkled unfiltered Delicado cigarette.
Jaibol logic
Eustacio took a long pull on his alcohol-laced Coke, then stared at the bottle with great seriousness.
"Don 'Pedio," Eustacio said after several minutes. "Jefe, don't let them make you a comandante policia." He shook his head gravely. "Never let them do that to you, jefe."
Don 'Pedio looked at the young man indulgently. "See," he said to me, "he enjoys being a payaso."
"Fijese, Don 'Pedio. It's a serious thing."
"All right, hijo. If they wanted, by some miracle, to make me a comandante policia, why shouldn't I accept? Am I so rich that I couldn't use the wages? Am I such a lofty mero-mero, that it would be beneath me?" The older man cackled at this, the end of his cigarette getting quite wet.
"No, jefe." Eustacio bobbed his head solemnly "It's none of those things. It's that if you are a policia, that would make you one of those damned oficiales you're always swearing at. And if you're an oficial, who're you going to blame for the high prices and the cuckolding taxes that go up every year?" Eustacio shook his head gravely, giggled once, then shook his head again.
Don 'Pedio sniffed dryly at this bit of jaibol logic, frowned and dropped his damp cigarette on the swept dirt floor. "That maybe true, joven, but still...."
"Besides," Eustacio interrupted suddenly with a look of alarm on his face. "Besides, if you were the comandante, you couldn't sell decilitros of cana to anybody. None of us would come to your store in the evenings, anymore. What would there be for us to do in Taixtlan at night?"
Don 'Pedio scowled and took out another wrinkled cigarette, lit and quickly dampened it. We all sat in silence thinking of this possible tragedy.
Suddenly Eustacio began coughing with laughter. Shaking his head, he reached for Don 'Pedio's arm, inadvertently knocking his Coke bottle to the floor.
Not only is this one a clown, but he's a crazy clown," Elpedio said, picking up the bottle.
"Jefe," Eustacio gasped, his face aglow with discovery and mirth. "Jefe. If you became a comandante policia, then you'd have to arrest yourself for having sold alcohol illegally, no?" Eustacio's eyes brimmed with tears of hilarity. "And we don't even have a jail where you could put yourself." Awash in giggles, Eustacio leaned far back in his rickety tin chair and slowly slipped to the floor. Almost immediately he began to snore.
"Pues, señor," Don 'Pedio said with a smile. "It's a blessing to have youngsters, like this one, who truly worry about their elders, isn't it?"
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