without wearing out our luck.
4. Years later, Don Isaac Buenaventura opened the padlock on his trapdoor and went down to the basement. There he knelt in front of the perpetual lights that illuminated each portrait. That of Angelines, his wife. And that of his father, the Cristero Abraham Buenaventura.
And then he said to them, “Don’t blame me as if I were guilty of something. The fires have gone out, and the dogs no longer are barking. Well, before you eat the taco, you have to measure the tortilla. Am I remembering a past that never was? You are my witnesses. That past did exist. The good Christian does have a rosary around his neck and a pistol in his hand. Death to the impious, the sons of Lucifer, the teachers who are tarts. Now who will defend us, mother of the forsaken, father of all battles? And against whom do I defend myself? Are there any Masons left out there, or Communists? My life has been in vain? Ah, no, it hasn’t, I deny it, now I realize that thanks to Marcos and Mateo, Juan and Lucas, I, Isaac Buenaventura, became a rebel again like my father because I prepared the rebellion of my sons, I told them, ‘Let’s see who has the balls to rebel!’ And the four of them were rebels, the four of them were better and more independent than me, the four of them deceived me and left me like Policarpo in the song, who doesn’t roll over even in his sleep . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A crucifix of steel. Dogs that bark at the moon. Fires that have gone out. The Church a great corpse. And I, Isaac Buenaventura, with the scaly mustache and a face more wrinkled than a glove and the pride that my sons turned out rebellious, exactly the way I wanted them to be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Long live Christ the King who performs these miracles for me, for the ways of the Lord are mysterious, and not in vain, Angelines, did I make the sign of the cross on your breasts with the blood of your newborn son Mateo. And not in vain, Father Abraham, did you refuse to drink water before you were shot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And let the grates creak, the dogs bark, the bells in the village ring in alarm, and the mares in heat and the mares giving birth all moan, because I’m still here guarding the earth, proud of my sons who didn’t allow themselves to be manipulated by their father and took charge of forging their own destiny, dissident in the face of life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Now I’m going to have a drink and sing a song.”
Chorus of Rival Buddies
Don Pedro was fifty-two years old
His compadre Don Félix fifty-four
The baptismal font joined them
Pedro was godfather to Félix’s son
Félix was godfather to Pedro’s daughter
They got together on Sundays for a family barbecue
They were both supporters of the PRI they felt nostalgic for the PRI because with the PRI there was order progress security for people like
Don Pedro and Don Félix
Not now without the PRI
They became annoyed with each other only once
In the line to vote for the PRI
“I got up first”
“You’re wrong I was here before anybody”
“What difference does it make Félix if in the end we’re both voting for the PRI”
“Are you sure Pedro? Suppose I change my vote?”
“But the vote is secret”
“Then don’t get in front of me Félix I got here first get in line compadre asshole”
And the second time was on the highway to Cuernavaca
They were going to celebrate the fifteenth birthday of the daughter of their boss
The undersecretary
But on the curves Félix passed Pedro and Pedro got mad and decided to speed past Félix
And the races began
We’ll see who’s more of a fucker
Félix or Pedro
Who’s more macho
The cars ran side by side
Pedro gives Félix the finger
Félix comes back at Pedro with five insulting blasts on the horn
Shave and a haircut, dum-dum
Pedro pulls his car alongside
4. Years later, Don Isaac Buenaventura opened the padlock on his trapdoor and went down to the basement. There he knelt in front of the perpetual lights that illuminated each portrait. That of Angelines, his wife. And that of his father, the Cristero Abraham Buenaventura.
And then he said to them, “Don’t blame me as if I were guilty of something. The fires have gone out, and the dogs no longer are barking. Well, before you eat the taco, you have to measure the tortilla. Am I remembering a past that never was? You are my witnesses. That past did exist. The good Christian does have a rosary around his neck and a pistol in his hand. Death to the impious, the sons of Lucifer, the teachers who are tarts. Now who will defend us, mother of the forsaken, father of all battles? And against whom do I defend myself? Are there any Masons left out there, or Communists? My life has been in vain? Ah, no, it hasn’t, I deny it, now I realize that thanks to Marcos and Mateo, Juan and Lucas, I, Isaac Buenaventura, became a rebel again like my father because I prepared the rebellion of my sons, I told them, ‘Let’s see who has the balls to rebel!’ And the four of them were rebels, the four of them were better and more independent than me, the four of them deceived me and left me like Policarpo in the song, who doesn’t roll over even in his sleep . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A crucifix of steel. Dogs that bark at the moon. Fires that have gone out. The Church a great corpse. And I, Isaac Buenaventura, with the scaly mustache and a face more wrinkled than a glove and the pride that my sons turned out rebellious, exactly the way I wanted them to be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Long live Christ the King who performs these miracles for me, for the ways of the Lord are mysterious, and not in vain, Angelines, did I make the sign of the cross on your breasts with the blood of your newborn son Mateo. And not in vain, Father Abraham, did you refuse to drink water before you were shot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And let the grates creak, the dogs bark, the bells in the village ring in alarm, and the mares in heat and the mares giving birth all moan, because I’m still here guarding the earth, proud of my sons who didn’t allow themselves to be manipulated by their father and took charge of forging their own destiny, dissident in the face of life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Now I’m going to have a drink and sing a song.”
Chorus of Rival Buddies
Don Pedro was fifty-two years old
His compadre Don Félix fifty-four
The baptismal font joined them
Pedro was godfather to Félix’s son
Félix was godfather to Pedro’s daughter
They got together on Sundays for a family barbecue
They were both supporters of the PRI they felt nostalgic for the PRI because with the PRI there was order progress security for people like
Don Pedro and Don Félix
Not now without the PRI
They became annoyed with each other only once
In the line to vote for the PRI
“I got up first”
“You’re wrong I was here before anybody”
“What difference does it make Félix if in the end we’re both voting for the PRI”
“Are you sure Pedro? Suppose I change my vote?”
“But the vote is secret”
“Then don’t get in front of me Félix I got here first get in line compadre asshole”
And the second time was on the highway to Cuernavaca
They were going to celebrate the fifteenth birthday of the daughter of their boss
The undersecretary
But on the curves Félix passed Pedro and Pedro got mad and decided to speed past Félix
And the races began
We’ll see who’s more of a fucker
Félix or Pedro
Who’s more macho
The cars ran side by side
Pedro gives Félix the finger
Félix comes back at Pedro with five insulting blasts on the horn
Shave and a haircut, dum-dum
Pedro pulls his car alongside
Similar Books
