flight on the human body, I suppose. A research facility. It's out at Brooks Field."
Manny finally dropped the paper. "Brooks Field? That's right down the road, Doc. Maybe five, six miles at the most."
"So what."
"Think about it, Doc.
Yah-kee!
Right here on the south side!"
Doc lost it. "
Yah-kee, Yah-kee, Yah-kee!
I swear to God if one more fool so much as mentions the name Yah-kee, I'll go screamin' down the road to the state hospital and turn myself in ... and would you listen to me? Now I'm startin' to say it! It's Jackie, goddamn it.
Jacqueline!
Christ! Graciela can't talk about anything else and just exactly what is it that you people find so fucking fascinating about the First Lady? The president's coming. The president of the United fucking States of America. He's a war hero, a great man, and all you people want to talk about is his wife. I mean, she's a lovely woman and all but, well, what the hell is that, anyway? Some kind of Mexican thing?"
"It's a Catholic thing," suggested Teresa, the barmaid, as she made her way across the room, sweeping and setting down chairs as she came.
"A wh-what?" Doc stammered, taken by surprise.
"He's a Catholic, this president. A Catholic man. He may think he runs the world but men ain't nothin' without women. Animals. Beasts."
"Now wait just a goddamn minute!" began Doc. "There's no need toâ"
"Oh, no offense, Doc. I know you don't mean no harm. You can't help it. God made you that way. You got to get dirty, to root around in the dirt like pigs. Oh, you go to Mass and give confession when you're children, but once you're grown you go to work and then you don't never set a filthy foot inside a church again unless it's for a wedding or a christening or a funeral Mass and then ... maybe. But that's okay. Praying is a woman's work. Men would only mess it up. It is a woman's job to keep the shrines and light the candles and pray for the soul of her man so that he can do what a man's got to do in this fucked-up world. Maybe it will be different in the next one, maybe it'll all begin and end with men up there, but here, it's women who give 'em life and it's women who clean up the shit and the blood. Rich man. Poor man. President. Priest. No matter. The bigger the man, the bigger the mess. She's a saint, our Yah-kee."
Doc was speechless. In eight years of his seeing Teresa every day, no more than a mouthful of words had ever passed between them. Suddenly, freed from her fixed position behind the bar, the usually placid matron was not only formidable but downright intimidating. Doc looked to Manny for moral support but found that none was forthcoming. The big man only squirmed in his chair, and his downcast eyes suggested to Doc that he didn't disagree.
In a feeble defense of his gender, Doc asked Teresa, "Just for the record, hon, how long's it been since you've been to church?"
Teresa stood five foot four at best but Doc was seated, and, standing less than a foot away, she seemed to loom over him.
"I have no man to pray for."
Only when Teresa had withdrawn to her usual place behind the bar did the men feel it was safe to resume their conversation, in quieter tones.
"I'm going," resolved Manny.
"Going where?"
"To Brooks Field. To see Yah-kee."
"Oh, for chrissake, Manny, Brooks is an air force base. A military installation. You can't just walk in there, especially when the president of the United States is in town. It'll be open to military personnel and invited guests only, the working press and the like. Hell, they ain't about to let a couple of broke dicks like us get anywhere near that place, president or no president."
Manny frowned for an instant, but he recovered quickly and began rustling through the paper once again. "It says right here that âhundreds are expected to be on hand when the president's plane arrives at San Antonio International Airport.' What about the airport? They can't keep us out of the airport, can they, Doc? That's a public place, ain't
Manny finally dropped the paper. "Brooks Field? That's right down the road, Doc. Maybe five, six miles at the most."
"So what."
"Think about it, Doc.
Yah-kee!
Right here on the south side!"
Doc lost it. "
Yah-kee, Yah-kee, Yah-kee!
I swear to God if one more fool so much as mentions the name Yah-kee, I'll go screamin' down the road to the state hospital and turn myself in ... and would you listen to me? Now I'm startin' to say it! It's Jackie, goddamn it.
Jacqueline!
Christ! Graciela can't talk about anything else and just exactly what is it that you people find so fucking fascinating about the First Lady? The president's coming. The president of the United fucking States of America. He's a war hero, a great man, and all you people want to talk about is his wife. I mean, she's a lovely woman and all but, well, what the hell is that, anyway? Some kind of Mexican thing?"
"It's a Catholic thing," suggested Teresa, the barmaid, as she made her way across the room, sweeping and setting down chairs as she came.
"A wh-what?" Doc stammered, taken by surprise.
"He's a Catholic, this president. A Catholic man. He may think he runs the world but men ain't nothin' without women. Animals. Beasts."
"Now wait just a goddamn minute!" began Doc. "There's no need toâ"
"Oh, no offense, Doc. I know you don't mean no harm. You can't help it. God made you that way. You got to get dirty, to root around in the dirt like pigs. Oh, you go to Mass and give confession when you're children, but once you're grown you go to work and then you don't never set a filthy foot inside a church again unless it's for a wedding or a christening or a funeral Mass and then ... maybe. But that's okay. Praying is a woman's work. Men would only mess it up. It is a woman's job to keep the shrines and light the candles and pray for the soul of her man so that he can do what a man's got to do in this fucked-up world. Maybe it will be different in the next one, maybe it'll all begin and end with men up there, but here, it's women who give 'em life and it's women who clean up the shit and the blood. Rich man. Poor man. President. Priest. No matter. The bigger the man, the bigger the mess. She's a saint, our Yah-kee."
Doc was speechless. In eight years of his seeing Teresa every day, no more than a mouthful of words had ever passed between them. Suddenly, freed from her fixed position behind the bar, the usually placid matron was not only formidable but downright intimidating. Doc looked to Manny for moral support but found that none was forthcoming. The big man only squirmed in his chair, and his downcast eyes suggested to Doc that he didn't disagree.
In a feeble defense of his gender, Doc asked Teresa, "Just for the record, hon, how long's it been since you've been to church?"
Teresa stood five foot four at best but Doc was seated, and, standing less than a foot away, she seemed to loom over him.
"I have no man to pray for."
Only when Teresa had withdrawn to her usual place behind the bar did the men feel it was safe to resume their conversation, in quieter tones.
"I'm going," resolved Manny.
"Going where?"
"To Brooks Field. To see Yah-kee."
"Oh, for chrissake, Manny, Brooks is an air force base. A military installation. You can't just walk in there, especially when the president of the United States is in town. It'll be open to military personnel and invited guests only, the working press and the like. Hell, they ain't about to let a couple of broke dicks like us get anywhere near that place, president or no president."
Manny frowned for an instant, but he recovered quickly and began rustling through the paper once again. "It says right here that âhundreds are expected to be on hand when the president's plane arrives at San Antonio International Airport.' What about the airport? They can't keep us out of the airport, can they, Doc? That's a public place, ain't
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