Thirteen Senses by Victor Villaseñor
“Who am I? Well, mi hijito, since you always seem to keep forgetting, then I’ll tell you again,” she said. “I am your mother. I am the woman who brought you forth with life from here between my legs, and so you will never get rid of me when I decide to be with you!
“Because, as I’ve told you time and again, even after I’m dead and gone and the worms have eaten my earth-body and you’re so old and deaf that you can’t hear your own farts, I’ll still be here inside your heart and soul like una GARRRRRAPATA, a tick up a dog’s ass, scratching at you, clawing at you, giving you great discomfort, every time I see you or one of your offspring get lazy and allow the Devil to come near! Do you understand now? This is who I am, your ancestral TICK UP YOUR SPIRITUAL ASSHOLE FOR ALL ETERNITY! So you don’t get lazy on me again,” she added. “GET YOUR SHIT FIRST!”
Salvador burst out laughing. What else could he do?
THE NEXT DAY, Salvador was down in Carlsbad, delivering whiskey, when his good friend Jerry Bill told him who the guy was who’d brought the two men down from Los Angeles to try to take over his territory. Why, it was Tomas, a good friend of Salvador’s, a man who’d sat across the table from Salvador in many a poker game and then had had breakfast with him in the early hours of the morning.
And the two men that Tomas had invited down were no other than . . . the Filipino and the Italiano, the two guys who’d cut Salvador’s throat a few years back in Corona, leaving him for dead, and then they’d also been the sons-of-a-bitches who’d gotten Salvador arrested in Hanford, for gambling. That’s how he’d ended up spending time in the Tulare jail.
These two stool pigeon bastard-cabrones, Salvador was going to kill immediately, and he didn’t give a good damn if they were amigos of the big boys out of Fresno, or not!
But then, that night as Salvador slept alone in Carlsbad in the little white house that he’d especially prepared for his honeymoon with Lupe, his mother, Doña Margarita, appeared to him in his dreams. “Mi hijito,” said the old Indian woman, “I didn’t raise you up all these years for you to now just go out and do your revenge like a stupid, typical man!
“You must think deeper, mi hijito, much deeper than the wolf or the coyote, and come up with a plan as cunning as the little She-Fox herself, the Female Force who helps God reign the Heavens.”
And saying this, his old mother then turned into a little She-Fox in Salvador’s dream, and whispered to him so quietly that his sleeping male-brain now thought that these were his very own thoughts.
“Sleep, my child-darling, sleep,” whispered the little She-Fox, “and let all the wisdom of the ages come to you. Remember the story of how the little She-Fox fooled the big strong coyote when he was going to eat her babies. She took the big, hungry coyote down to the lagoon and convinced him that the reflection of the full Moon in the water was the biggest, most delicious cheese in all the world. Greed did all the rest, mi hijito. The coyote drank the water, wanting to empty the lagoon so he could get to the cheese, and he choked to death. Remember, greed can be a person’s best friend when the other has it and you don’t.”
“Yes, mama,” said Salvador to the She-Fox in his dream, “I remember that story well, but I’m a man, mama, so I don’t know what to do, except kill these two cabrón-bastards!”
“Then sleep some more, mi hijito,’’ said his old Indian mother to him in his dream, “and believe me, you’ll soon come up with a plan so fantastic that it will give you a greater reputation than just the killing of two mere mortals. And also remember the formidable powers of the mother pig, the only farm animal capable of returning to the wild and surviving, because she never lost her wild instincts. And it is within our wild instincts that lies the key to our soul.
“Dream, mi hijito, dream, and know that our soul is our doorway to God. Coo-coo rrroo-coo coooooo, dijo la Paloma!” his mother continued singing.
And Salvador continued dreaming as he slept, and all these Ancient Powers came to him in the Great Open River of Papito Dios.
In the morning, just as the dawn of the new day was coming forth, Salvador awoke with such strength and clarity of mind that he leaped out of bed, bursting with energy!
He was ready!
He was full to the brim!
It was already done, finished, and completed here inside of his being!
The Heartbeat of his Ancestry was beat, beat, beating, pounding inside of him. He was now in that Holy State of Being Aprevenido!
Salvador washed, dressed, and drove whistling up to Tustin to see Archie Freeman, who was a deputy sheriff in both Orange and San Diego Counties.
Immediately, Salvador told the huge lawman that he’d give him a free barrel of whiskey, if he’d just come down to Carlsbad this afternoon and say hi to him.
“And I’ll be waiting for you east of town,” said Salvador, “you know, over in that old barn by the Kelly Ranch.”
“Just come and say hi?” said Archie, grinning. “Hell, just what kind of a fool do you figure me for, Salvador?”
“A smart one,” said Salvador, not flinching.
He and Archie had done a lot of business together over the last few years. And lately, Archie had been getting sweet on Lupe’s sister Carlota, so—who knew?—they might end up being brothers-in-law yet.
“Look, Archie,” continued Salvador, “you’re the law, so truthfully, it’s best that I don’t tell you what I’m doing. You just come by and say ‘hi, how’s everything going,’ and then leave immediately, and I’ll handle everything, and this way you’re not involved in any way.”
Archie reached up to his long, dark, California Indian face with his huge, thick right hand and scratched himself, then began pulling at his right ear, the chewing-over-information ear, then he scratched the left side of his face. “Just come by and say, ‘hi, how’s everything going,’ and leave immediately, eh?”
“That’s right,” said Salvador. “But you got to tell no one that you’ve even seen me, because I’m still on my honeymoon, okay? And you do this, and I’ll deliver you a free, ten-gallon barrel tomorrow.”
“Of real whiskey?”
“Of my best!”
“You mean, that 12-year-old stuff?”
“You got it!”
“Okay,” said Archie, licking his chops, “you’ve got yourself a deal, but I’ll tell you, I smell a mighty big rat here somewhere.”
“From me? Oh, no, Archie, I’m a married man now.”
On this one, Archie burst out laughing. “Married, my ass! You still look like the same son-of-a-bitch cabrón I met the first day I saw you! So tell me,” added Archie, “all business aside, why aren’t you on, well, your honeymoon?”
If anybody else had asked, Salvador would’ve gone into a rage, because he wasn’t going to allow any pair of hanging balls to tease him about his love for Lupe. But Archie was almost like family; or maybe even better than familia.
“Archie,” Salvador now said, “Lupe’s mother came out and told me after the wedding that Lupe wasn’t feeling well, so could I please wait for a few days before she joined me for our honeymoon. But like I told you, no one must know, not one person, okay?”
“You got it,” said Archie.
“Then we got a deal?” asked Salvador, wanting to make sure, because the law was a very big part of his plan—for this whole thing to work. “I’ll see you late this afternoon, just before sunset in that shack by those horse corrals just this side of the Kelly Ranch on the old El Camino?”
Archie nodded, and they shook hands. And now that Salvador had accomplished this deal with Archie, he quickly drove over to Corona, bought himself a couple of young, male pigs, and hired two of the Moreno boys to help him—at such a price that they couldn’t refuse.
Then he quickly went to his mother’s place, got Luisa’s two older boys to wash his Moon automobile for him as he bathed, shaved, and got all dressed up. The boys did a wonderful job. Jose, his nephew, was turning into a very responsible young man. Salvador then offered to pay the two boys. Pedro i
“Uncle,” said Jose, “you do so much for us all the time, that it’s a pleasure to just be able to do something for you. We don’t want your money. Do we, Pedro,” he said, turning to his younger, smaller brother.
Pedro really didn’t want to, but he returned the money. “Jose is right,” he said. “We don’t want your money! Ah, shit!”
Salvador laughed, then looked at his nephew Jose in the eyes. Blood was really blood. This boy had never even met his great big father—who’d been killed back in Mexico by two stupid, little, scared soldiers at the dinner table as they ate—but he had his father’s size and looks and sense of justice, balance, and the larger, fuller picture of life.
Salvador hugged both boys in a big abrazo, kissing them, then he got in his fine, newly-washed Moon automobile and took off for Carlsbad with the Morenos following behind him in his truck with the two pigs.
He was wearing a gorgeous suit and great tie. Salvador knew that he had to look the part for what he was now going to do. It was no accident that a good lawyer spent as much time and thought on his dress as a good prostitute. Clothes, about fine clothes, Salvador had also learned in Montana when he’d been hiding from the law and Lady Katherine, the English madam of the finest whorehouse in the whole Northwest, had taken him under her wing.
In the barrio of Carlsbad, Salvador immediately found Tomas Varga, who’d brought in those two guys from Los Angeles.
“Cómo estas, Tomas,” said Salvador, stepping down out of his grand car and smiling to this man that was well known all through the barrio as a small-time, two-bit gambler. “I need to have a little talk with you. I got a little business deal for you, so you can make a few extra dollars.”
“Oh, no, I’m too busy, Salvador,” said Tomas, already looking nervous. “I can’t go with you right now.”
Just then, the two Moreno boys were at Tomas’s side, and Salvador drew close and put his .38 snubnose into Tomas’s gut. “We insist,” said Salvador quietly. “Just keep still, and nothing is going to happen to you, te juro. I promise, we just need to talk a little bit.”
Getting Tomas in the front passenger’s seat alongside Salvador, the two Moreno brothers got in the truck. Salvador drove slowly out of the barrio de Carlos Malo—as Carlsbad was referred to by the Mexican people, meaning the neighborhood of Bad Charles—and east up the hill, by the Carlsbad forest and over to El Camino, the old, abandoned dirt road that the padres had used when they’d first come into California over two hundred years ago.
Salvador headed south, and he could see that Tomas was getting more and more frightened as they went. Salvador loved it. His mother was right, why be a huge, powerful wolf or coyote when you could be a quick, agile, little, cunning She-Fox, and allow the frightened man’s imagination to do it all for you.
“But where are we going, Salvador?” Tomas was saying. “I’m just a gambler, you know that, Salvador. I never had anything to do with—” He stopped his words.
“You never had anything to do with what?” asked Salvador, acting innocent and turning the knife in a little deeper. Imagination could do so much more than the wildest reality. His mother always said that a frightened person’s mind was the Devil’s finest playground.
“Relax,” said Salvador, “just relax, amigo,” he added, reaching out and stroking Tomas’s leg like you’d do for a woman. This he’d seen done in prison. This small, innocent-looking act caused a frightened man’s balls to draw completely up into his body, leaving him as available as any female who’d lost all self-respect.
“It’s all right, amigo mio,” continued Salvador, talking softly, gently, “I know that you didn’t intentionally mean any harm. But, well, you know how it is, a man’s livelihood is a man’s livelihood, and just because—” Salvador now had to swallow hard to keep himself calm, “—I got married doesn’t mean that I still can’t take care of business.”
Salvador wanted to scream, to turn into a jaguar and rip this man’s throat out with his teeth, but he didn’t. He calmed down, breathing easy like a reptile in the hot midday desert.
Up ahead, in the canyon, Salvador pulled off the dirt road of El Camino and took a trail across a meadow toward some abandoned horse corrals.
Inside the barn were the two little pigs, which Salvador and the Morenos had brought by earlier when they’d checked things out. And now, in no time at all, the Moreno boys had a good little fire going.
By now Tomas was so confused, not knowing what was going on, that he just couldn’t shut up. Salvador just loved how the unknown rattled people, particularly those who weren’t at home with themselves. The changing forces of living life, la vida, could kill a man who didn’t have his feet well planted into the Mother Earth.
“But Salvador, I never brought them down here!” Tomas was now saying. “You need to believe me! I swear it on my mother’s grave! I respect a man’s territory!”
Salvador almost laughed on this one. Years ago he’d learned, that anytime a man swore to something, especially over his mother’s grave, this meant that then this was exactly what this man was lying about. Lies were such good company to fear.
“Yes, you respect a man’s territory,” said Salvador. “But do you respect a man’s marriage?”
“But what are you talking about?” yelled Tomas, eyes jumping.
“Marriage,” said Salvador, “do you respect a man who’s gotten married? Or do you—like so many little two-bit pimps who handle women with a slap in the face—think a man’s gone weak in the head when he’s in love and he marries?”
“Salvador, I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I have never even spoken to this girl you married. I—I—oh, God, I think there’s been a misunderstanding here! I deal in cards and, you know, prostitutes; not in decent women, Salvador!”
Salvador only smiled. “Exactly. I know. I know,” he said as he continued to sharpen his knife, realizing that yes, indeed, he’d struck pure gold here inside this man’s private hell.
Why, it was this little two-bit Tomas who’d told the Filipino and the Italiano that the North County San Diego was for the taking because Salvador was getting married and couldn’t control his area anymore. Why, this little son-of-a-bitch had probably even told ’em, “Come on, hurry, before someone else moves in! For we all know that a man who marries has lost his nerve!”
Salvador turned and looked at Tomas, and yes, Tomas was tall, well-built, and very handsome with a rugged appearance to him. But looking at his eyes, especially into his left eye, the female eye, it was easy to see just how very little Tomas really was.
Why, Tomas was nothing but a rabbit, a cottontail, facing his worst nightmare, the She-Fox, herself!
Salvador now rolled up the left sleeve of his own shirt, and licked the hairiest part of his forearm, then he put the blade of the knife that he’d just sharpened to this licked part of his forearm to test the sharpness of the blade. The knife shaved a little, two-finger-wide portion of his forearm as clean and smooth as a baby’s ass.
“Pretty good, eh?” said Salvador, seeing how Tomas had watched the whole procedure very carefully. “But I think I should still strap it first.”
“But what are we going to do?” asked Tomas, having finally got caught up in the details of what was going on about him.
Salvador loved details; they were the lifeblood of any well-laid plan.
“Well, of course, I’m going to castrate these two little pigs,” said Salvador.
Tomas glanced at the two little pigs, who were rooting happily in a corner of the barn, digging at the earth with their noses. They looked so cute and happy and peaceful.
“Poor little things,” said Tomas, suddenly looking greatly relieved. “But then why did you bring me along? I don’t understand.”
Just then, Archie’s big Hudson car came roaring up outside, right on schedule.
“Who’s that?” asked Tomas.
“Archie,” said Salvador, “but don’t wo
The barn door burst open and in stepped Archie, filling the entire doorway like a big studhorse. “Just stopped by,” he said, full of power, “to say hi and see if everything is okay.”
“Everything is fine,” said Salvador, calmly.
“Oh, yes, everything is fine,” said Tomas, looking even more relieved to see the law.
“Good, then I’ll be seeing you,” said Archie, and he turned and left as quickly as he’d come, and they could all hear his big Hudson changing gears as it went roaring back up on El Camino and headed north back to town.
“But I don’t get it,” said Tomas, feeling very confident now. “If you’re just going to castrate some pigs, then why did you bother to bring me all the way out here?”
“Because,” said Salvador, suddenly stepping in close, as the two Moreno boys—who were some of the greatest horsemen in all the Southland—now roped Tomas with the riatas that they’d been playing around with, before he ever knew what was happening, “I’m going to cook up those pigs’ balls and feed them to you, before we castrate you and feed your own tanates to you, too!”
All the blood left Tomas’s face.
“No man,” continued Salvador, “should have to eat his own balls before knowing if he likes balls cooked with salsa verde or salsa colorada!”
Tomas screamed to the heavens, startling the two little pigs, as the Moreno boys tied him in a chair and then tied the chair to one of the horse stalls and jerked down his pants.
Then when the first little pig was caught and his legs were held wide apart for his cutting, you couldn’t distinguish the screams of Tomas from the little pig’s SCREECHES!
The first pair of balls were tossed in the frying pan of the little fire with salsa verde, because no matter how much Salvador kept asking Tomas which salsa he preferred to start with first, he couldn’t speak, he was screaming so much as Salvador shoved the first burning-hot pig’s ball down his throat, almost choking him to death!
By the time Salvador and the two Moreno boys dropped Tomas back off in the barrio de Carlos Malo, he was no longer ever going to be a Doubting Thomas again for as long as he lived! He was a true believer now, for he’d seen el Diablo as sure as he breathed.