When Worlds Collide
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mockturtle
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You've got the secret to good storytelling: Lots of dialogue. That's what hooked me on Dostoyevsky.
My posting pages of this story may slow down a bit after this episode, I have a very busy schedule for the next few weeks...
The following morning I was invited into the house for breakfast, and what a breakfast it was! Huevos rancheros, chorizo, enchiladas, chilaquiles, orange juice, and plenty of dark strong coffee.
Sofia smiled at me as she helped Isabella serve, but as she got close to me a shot rang out, broken glass flew. Sofia collapsed on the floor.
“Sofia!” Isabella wailed.
I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms.
“Sophia don't you dare die!”
“Sólo tengo un agujero en mi hombro. Abrázame mientras me desmayo,” Sofia said.
“Oye gringo, tu turno,” a voice from outside called out.
I'm not a foolhardy man, but I do have a strong sense of right and wrong and try to do the right thing, as I did in Vietnam.
I looked at Hugo, “Do you have a gun?”
“Sí, matar al hijo de puta!” He said getting an old break-action 12 gauge shotgun and a handful of shells.
I loaded it, cocking both hammers, and went out the front door. Off to one side there was a shallow ditch, which I got into and crawled along, trying to outflank him. When I thought I had gone far enough I picked up a stone and looking out, threw it at him. When he turned toward me and I fired both barrels. I hit him, I know I hit him, but it didn't have much effect.
“Gringo, voy a destripar tu coño delante de usted! Entonces voy a destripar usted!” He yelled as he pulled the trigger as rapidly as he could.
I didn't know what he said but I'm sure it wasn't very nice. I quickly reloaded and fired one barrel at him, again not much effect. Over this distance, the bird-shot in the shells just wasn't enough. I had three shells left. I had to do something. I stuck my head out and threw a stone, hitting him in the head.
“Eres un hijo de puta!” He screamed firing at me.
I was sweating, as I loaded the shotgun. He poked his head up and fired at me. I let go with one barrel. I cocked the hammer and when I saw his head pop up again I pulled the trigger.
“Click!”
He laughed, “No más cartuchos de escopeta gringo?”
He got up and walked toward me. When I thought he was close enough I pointed the shotgun at him and pulled the trigger on the loaded barrel. It hit him in the chest and blew him backwards. I got up, cautiously approached him, and kicked the pistol out of his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his face raw from the bear repellent, he was burned and blistered from the fire, now he had a hole in his chest, but the fucker was still not dead! I picked up his pistol and pointing it at his head, I shot him.
That was when I noticed the string around his neck. I pulled it out of his shirt, there were small pieces of shriveled up humanity strung on it. I couldn't help myself, I had tears streaming down my face as I kicked his inert body, praying by some miracle that he could feel every blow.
Some people will think what I did was wrong, but they have never had to deal with someone like that. There are people who deserve to die.
When I went into the kitchen, Hugo looked up at me, he could see that something was wrong. He got up and we went in another room.
“Está muerto?” He asked.
I nodded and then held the string out to him. He looked at it uncomprehending for a moment, but then he realized that they were souvenirs taken from his female victims.
“Querida Madre de Dios!” He said crossing himself.
In all my life I have never felt as disturbed by anything as I was by that string necklace. I'm not a religious man, but I needed to talk to someone who could make some sense of it all. I wanted to talk to someone in the local church, but I couldn't think of the Spanish word for church. I think I was in shock, I wasn't thinking straight, all that came to mind was the Greek word.
“εκκλησία?” I said.
Hugo looked at me, not understanding what I meant.
I said it again, “εκκλησία”
He looked at me and then said, “Iglesia?”
“¡Sí, iglesia!”
Hugo took me to the local Catholic church where we had a long talk with Father Gabriel, who could speak English. Even though being an agnostic, I confessed to him everything that I had done, and handed him the string. Father Gabriel took it and crossed himself. He understood the need for silence, and vowed to put the ladies represented by that string as close to God as he could possibly get them. I don't know what he did with it, but I like to think he put it in the church's reliquary.
Then Hugo had a private chat with Father Gabriel, and came out of his office ten minutes later. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and we went to one of the local cantinas, where Hugo knew everyone, and none of them spoke any English. Hugo introduced me, and I had all of them come up to me and shake my hand, saying something in Spanish. I wasn't allowed to buy a single drink, when my glass was empty it was replaced with a full one. Hugo and I emerged very inebriated a few hours later, and made our way back to the house.
The doctor had already left, and I was dozing, sitting with Sofia. I don't know how long I slept but when I opened my eyes she was looking at me smiling.
“Cómo te ahh s-sientes?” I asked getting up and kissing her.
“G-Good n-now,” she replied in English, and then she wrinkled her nose and said, “La cantina?”
“Sí, con Hugo.”
“Papá?” Sofia asked as though not believing me.
“Sí.”
Later that day I saw Hugo pull his tractor behind the house, tie a rope to the dead man, and drag the body well away from the house. He buried it somewhere out in the desert, and afterwards would tell no one where.
to be continued...
Day 10
The following morning I was invited into the house for breakfast, and what a breakfast it was! Huevos rancheros, chorizo, enchiladas, chilaquiles, orange juice, and plenty of dark strong coffee.
Sofia smiled at me as she helped Isabella serve, but as she got close to me a shot rang out, broken glass flew. Sofia collapsed on the floor.
“Sofia!” Isabella wailed.
I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms.
“Sophia don't you dare die!”
“Sólo tengo un agujero en mi hombro. Abrázame mientras me desmayo,” Sofia said.
“Oye gringo, tu turno,” a voice from outside called out.
I'm not a foolhardy man, but I do have a strong sense of right and wrong and try to do the right thing, as I did in Vietnam.
I looked at Hugo, “Do you have a gun?”
“Sí, matar al hijo de puta!” He said getting an old break-action 12 gauge shotgun and a handful of shells.
I loaded it, cocking both hammers, and went out the front door. Off to one side there was a shallow ditch, which I got into and crawled along, trying to outflank him. When I thought I had gone far enough I picked up a stone and looking out, threw it at him. When he turned toward me and I fired both barrels. I hit him, I know I hit him, but it didn't have much effect.
“Gringo, voy a destripar tu coño delante de usted! Entonces voy a destripar usted!” He yelled as he pulled the trigger as rapidly as he could.
I didn't know what he said but I'm sure it wasn't very nice. I quickly reloaded and fired one barrel at him, again not much effect. Over this distance, the bird-shot in the shells just wasn't enough. I had three shells left. I had to do something. I stuck my head out and threw a stone, hitting him in the head.
“Eres un hijo de puta!” He screamed firing at me.
I was sweating, as I loaded the shotgun. He poked his head up and fired at me. I let go with one barrel. I cocked the hammer and when I saw his head pop up again I pulled the trigger.
“Click!”
He laughed, “No más cartuchos de escopeta gringo?”
He got up and walked toward me. When I thought he was close enough I pointed the shotgun at him and pulled the trigger on the loaded barrel. It hit him in the chest and blew him backwards. I got up, cautiously approached him, and kicked the pistol out of his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his face raw from the bear repellent, he was burned and blistered from the fire, now he had a hole in his chest, but the fucker was still not dead! I picked up his pistol and pointing it at his head, I shot him.
That was when I noticed the string around his neck. I pulled it out of his shirt, there were small pieces of shriveled up humanity strung on it. I couldn't help myself, I had tears streaming down my face as I kicked his inert body, praying by some miracle that he could feel every blow.
Some people will think what I did was wrong, but they have never had to deal with someone like that. There are people who deserve to die.
When I went into the kitchen, Hugo looked up at me, he could see that something was wrong. He got up and we went in another room.
“Está muerto?” He asked.
I nodded and then held the string out to him. He looked at it uncomprehending for a moment, but then he realized that they were souvenirs taken from his female victims.
“Querida Madre de Dios!” He said crossing himself.
In all my life I have never felt as disturbed by anything as I was by that string necklace. I'm not a religious man, but I needed to talk to someone who could make some sense of it all. I wanted to talk to someone in the local church, but I couldn't think of the Spanish word for church. I think I was in shock, I wasn't thinking straight, all that came to mind was the Greek word.
“εκκλησία?” I said.
Hugo looked at me, not understanding what I meant.
I said it again, “εκκλησία”
He looked at me and then said, “Iglesia?”
“¡Sí, iglesia!”
Hugo took me to the local Catholic church where we had a long talk with Father Gabriel, who could speak English. Even though being an agnostic, I confessed to him everything that I had done, and handed him the string. Father Gabriel took it and crossed himself. He understood the need for silence, and vowed to put the ladies represented by that string as close to God as he could possibly get them. I don't know what he did with it, but I like to think he put it in the church's reliquary.
Then Hugo had a private chat with Father Gabriel, and came out of his office ten minutes later. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and we went to one of the local cantinas, where Hugo knew everyone, and none of them spoke any English. Hugo introduced me, and I had all of them come up to me and shake my hand, saying something in Spanish. I wasn't allowed to buy a single drink, when my glass was empty it was replaced with a full one. Hugo and I emerged very inebriated a few hours later, and made our way back to the house.
The doctor had already left, and I was dozing, sitting with Sofia. I don't know how long I slept but when I opened my eyes she was looking at me smiling.
“Cómo te ahh s-sientes?” I asked getting up and kissing her.
“G-Good n-now,” she replied in English, and then she wrinkled her nose and said, “La cantina?”
“Sí, con Hugo.”
“Papá?” Sofia asked as though not believing me.
“Sí.”
Later that day I saw Hugo pull his tractor behind the house, tie a rope to the dead man, and drag the body well away from the house. He buried it somewhere out in the desert, and afterwards would tell no one where.
to be continued...
This is the last part of the tale. I was unsatisfied with the way I worded Day 10, so I have rewritten it and present it here along with Day 13.
Enjoy!
The following morning I was invited into the house for breakfast, and what a breakfast it was! Huevos rancheros, chorizo, enchiladas, chilaquiles, orange juice, and plenty of dark strong coffee. Sofia beamed at me as she helped Isabella serve, but as she got close to me a shot rang out, broken glass flew. Sofia collapsed on the floor.
“Sofia!” Isabella wailed.
I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms.
“Sophia don't you dare die!”
“Sólo tengo un agujero en mi hombro. Abrázame mientras me desmayo,” Sofia said.
“Oye gringo, tu turno,” a voice from outside called out.
I'm not a foolhardy man, but I do have a strong sense of right and wrong, and I try to do the right thing, as I did in Vietnam.
I looked at Hugo, “Do you have a gun?”
“Sí, matar al hijo de puta!” He said getting an old break-action double-barreled 12 gauge shotgun and a handful of shells.
I didn't know what he said but I'm sure it wasn't very nice. I quickly reloaded and fired one barrel at him, again it had very little effect. Over this distance, the bird-shot in the shells just wasn't enough. I had three shells left. I had to do something. I stuck my head out and quickly threw a stone, hitting him in the head.
“Eres un hijo de puta!” He screamed firing at me.
I was sweating, as I loaded the shotgun. He poked his head up and fired at me. I let go with one barrel. I cocked the hammer and when I saw his head pop up again I pulled the trigger.
“Click.”
He laughed, “No más cartuchos de escopeta gringo?”
He got up and walked toward me. When I thought he was close enough I pointed the shotgun at him and pulled the trigger on the loaded barrel. It hit him in the chest and blew him backwards. I got up, cautiously approached him, and kicked the pistol out of his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his face raw from the bear repellent, he was burned and blistered from the fire, now he had a hole in his chest, but the fucker was still not dead! I picked up his pistol and pointing it at his head, I shot him.
That was when I noticed the string around his neck. I pulled it out of his shirt, there were small pieces of shriveled up humanity strung on it. I couldn't help myself, I had tears streaming down my face as I kicked his inert body, praying by some miracle that he could feel every blow.
When I had recovered I went into the kitchen. The doctor was still working on Sofia.
“Sofia okay,” he said looking up at me.
I nodded, and then Hugo looked at me, he could see that something was wrong. He got up and we went in another room.
“Está muerto?” He asked.
“Si,” and then I held the string out to him. Hugo looked at it uncomprehending for a moment, but then he realized that they were souvenirs taken from his female victims.
“Querida Madre de Dios!” He said crossing himself.
In all my life I have never felt as disturbed by anything as I was by that string necklace. I'm not a religious man, but I needed to talk to someone who could make some sense of it all. I wanted to talk to someone in the local church, but I couldn't think of the Spanish word for church. I think I was in shock, I wasn't thinking straight, all that came to mind was the Greek word.
“εκκλησία?” I said.
Hugo looked at me, not understanding what I meant.
I said it again, “εκκλησία”
He looked at me and then said, “Iglesia?”
“¡Sí, iglesia!”
Hugo took me to the local Catholic church where we had a long talk with Father Gabriel, who could speak English. I confessed to him everything that I had done, even though I am an agnostic, and handed him the string. Father Gabriel took it and crossed himself. He understood the need for silence, and vowed to put the ladies represented by that string as close to God as he could possibly get them. I don't know what he did with it, but I like to think he put it in the church's reliquary.
Then Hugo had a private chat with Father Gabriel, and came out of his office ten minutes later. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and we went to one of the local cantinas, where Hugo knew everyone, and none of them spoke any English. Hugo introduced me, and I had all of them come up to me and shake my hand, saying something in Spanish. I wasn't allowed to buy a single drink, when my glass was empty it was replaced with a full one. Hugo and I emerged very inebriated a few hours later, and made our way back to the house.
The doctor had already left, and I was in a chair, dozing, sitting with Sofia. I don't know how long I had slept but when I opened my eyes she was looking at me smiling.
“Cómo te ahh s-sientes?” I asked getting up and kissing her.
“G-Good n-now,” she replied in English, and then she wrinkled her nose and said, “La cantina?”
“Sí, con Hugo.”
“Papá?” Sofia asked as though not believing me.
“Sí.”
Later that day Hugo pulled his tractor behind the house, tied a rope to the dead man, and dragged the body well away from the house. He buried it somewhere out in the desert, and afterwards would tell no one where.
Enjoy!
Day 10
The following morning I was invited into the house for breakfast, and what a breakfast it was! Huevos rancheros, chorizo, enchiladas, chilaquiles, orange juice, and plenty of dark strong coffee. Sofia beamed at me as she helped Isabella serve, but as she got close to me a shot rang out, broken glass flew. Sofia collapsed on the floor.
“Sofia!” Isabella wailed.
I knelt down beside her and held her in my arms.
“Sophia don't you dare die!”
“Sólo tengo un agujero en mi hombro. Abrázame mientras me desmayo,” Sofia said.
“Oye gringo, tu turno,” a voice from outside called out.
I'm not a foolhardy man, but I do have a strong sense of right and wrong, and I try to do the right thing, as I did in Vietnam.
I looked at Hugo, “Do you have a gun?”
“Sí, matar al hijo de puta!” He said getting an old break-action double-barreled 12 gauge shotgun and a handful of shells.
I loaded it, cocking both hammers — the kitchen was in the back, so I went out the front door.
* * *
When I woke up I was on the kitchen table.
“You let Andrés go out there alone!?” I asked struggling to get up.
“He can handle himself,” papa said.
“Andrés is not like that man out there, that monster will kill him!”
As we argued, mama and papa trying to get me to lie down we heard the shotgun blast, and then a smaller gun, a pistol firing very quickly.
“He needs me!” I said pushing them away, ignoring the pain as I tried to get up.
“Sofia, he needs you well,” mama said.
I looked at mama, I think it was her way of giving Andrés and me her blessing. Then the doctor arrived, and he examined me.
“The bullet went into the shoulder, but missed the bones,” Luis pronounced.
He opened his backpack and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, a pair of forceps, and a needle and thread.
“Una taza Isabella,” Luis said.
He poured some whiskey into the cup and gave me a drink, then he finished it off, and poured another cup and set the forceps in it.
Luis then poured some whiskey on the wound.
“Eeeeee!” I squealed, tears coming to my eyes.
Before I could do anything else he had the forceps in the wound, probing for the bullet, as mama and papa held me down.
“¡Ahí está!” Luis exclaimed when the forceps contacted the bullet.
He gripped the bullet and pulled it out through the passage it had made going in. I must confess that after screaming I did faint.
* * *
Off to one side there was a shallow ditch, which I got into and crawled along it, trying to outflank him. When I thought I had gone far enough I picked up a stone and taking a quick look, I threw it at him. When he turned toward me, I fired both barrels. I hit him, I know I hit him, but it didn't have much effect.
“Gringo, voy a destripar tu coño delante de usted! Entonces voy a destripar usted!” He yelled as he pulled the trigger as rapidly as he could.I didn't know what he said but I'm sure it wasn't very nice. I quickly reloaded and fired one barrel at him, again it had very little effect. Over this distance, the bird-shot in the shells just wasn't enough. I had three shells left. I had to do something. I stuck my head out and quickly threw a stone, hitting him in the head.
“Eres un hijo de puta!” He screamed firing at me.
I was sweating, as I loaded the shotgun. He poked his head up and fired at me. I let go with one barrel. I cocked the hammer and when I saw his head pop up again I pulled the trigger.
“Click.”
He laughed, “No más cartuchos de escopeta gringo?”
He got up and walked toward me. When I thought he was close enough I pointed the shotgun at him and pulled the trigger on the loaded barrel. It hit him in the chest and blew him backwards. I got up, cautiously approached him, and kicked the pistol out of his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his face raw from the bear repellent, he was burned and blistered from the fire, now he had a hole in his chest, but the fucker was still not dead! I picked up his pistol and pointing it at his head, I shot him.
That was when I noticed the string around his neck. I pulled it out of his shirt, there were small pieces of shriveled up humanity strung on it. I couldn't help myself, I had tears streaming down my face as I kicked his inert body, praying by some miracle that he could feel every blow.
When I had recovered I went into the kitchen. The doctor was still working on Sofia.
“Sofia okay,” he said looking up at me.
I nodded, and then Hugo looked at me, he could see that something was wrong. He got up and we went in another room.
“Está muerto?” He asked.
“Si,” and then I held the string out to him. Hugo looked at it uncomprehending for a moment, but then he realized that they were souvenirs taken from his female victims.
“Querida Madre de Dios!” He said crossing himself.
In all my life I have never felt as disturbed by anything as I was by that string necklace. I'm not a religious man, but I needed to talk to someone who could make some sense of it all. I wanted to talk to someone in the local church, but I couldn't think of the Spanish word for church. I think I was in shock, I wasn't thinking straight, all that came to mind was the Greek word.
“εκκλησία?” I said.
Hugo looked at me, not understanding what I meant.
I said it again, “εκκλησία”
He looked at me and then said, “Iglesia?”
“¡Sí, iglesia!”
Hugo took me to the local Catholic church where we had a long talk with Father Gabriel, who could speak English. I confessed to him everything that I had done, even though I am an agnostic, and handed him the string. Father Gabriel took it and crossed himself. He understood the need for silence, and vowed to put the ladies represented by that string as close to God as he could possibly get them. I don't know what he did with it, but I like to think he put it in the church's reliquary.
Then Hugo had a private chat with Father Gabriel, and came out of his office ten minutes later. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and we went to one of the local cantinas, where Hugo knew everyone, and none of them spoke any English. Hugo introduced me, and I had all of them come up to me and shake my hand, saying something in Spanish. I wasn't allowed to buy a single drink, when my glass was empty it was replaced with a full one. Hugo and I emerged very inebriated a few hours later, and made our way back to the house.
The doctor had already left, and I was in a chair, dozing, sitting with Sofia. I don't know how long I had slept but when I opened my eyes she was looking at me smiling.
“Cómo te ahh s-sientes?” I asked getting up and kissing her.
“G-Good n-now,” she replied in English, and then she wrinkled her nose and said, “La cantina?”
“Sí, con Hugo.”
“Papá?” Sofia asked as though not believing me.
“Sí.”
Later that day Hugo pulled his tractor behind the house, tied a rope to the dead man, and dragged the body well away from the house. He buried it somewhere out in the desert, and afterwards would tell no one where.
Day 11, 12, and 13
By the time I woke up the wound was sewn up and bandaged, and I was in my bed. Then mama came in, brought me a tray, and I ate while we talked.
“Where is Andrés?”
“I think in his van.”
“Why isn't he here?”
“I don't know Sofia.”
I lay there wondering if I had done something wrong, I was wanting to go to him, but afraid of rejection. What if he doesn't want me now that he has seen what life in Mexico can be like? He didn't show up the next day either.
The following day I got up, over my mama's and papa's protestations, but I was determined. I held onto the bureau as I got my balance, and then went out to see Andrés.
“Andrés what is wrong?”
“What's wrong!? What hope is there for the human race if we can do to each other, what he did, what he was planning to do to you?”
“The hope is - that a good man occasionally comes along and puts it all right,” I said.
“By doing what I did to him?” He angrily retorted.
“He lived in a violent world. That does not make you the same as him.”
“I shot him in cold blood!”
“He deserved it! He would have killed me, and what about all the other poor women he has killed! You do not love me?”
He shook his head, “Sofia, how could I not love you?”
“Andrés sometime we have make sacrifices, you are a good man, I know you can put this behind us.”
He looked at me, “Us? Is there an us?”
“Of course there is,” I said sitting next to him.
He put his arm around me, “What about papa?”
“Oh my, take care!”
“You shouldn't be out here, you should be resting.”
“I want to be with you.”
“Make love to me Andrés,” I said, “but be careful of my shoulder.”
And he did, alternating passionate, demanding, tender, and inspired love. I had tears in my eyes, I was so happy.
“I haven't hurt you have I?”
I shook my head, pulling him down to me with my good arm, and kissed him. From that time forward I started sleeping in the van, much to the shock of mama and papa.
“Please Sophia, you know what papa can get like,” mama first said.
“I love Andrés, and need him as much as he needs me.”
I knew papa liked Andrés, but in his eyes he was simply too old for me, and what we were doing was not proper.
“Sophia I forbid you to sleep in his van with him like a-like a cheap whore!” Papa said one day.
“Oh papa don't be so melodramatic, you know I'm not cheap,” I said kissing him on his balding head.
When I left him he was spluttering and fuming. Later we heard mama and papa arguing, of course we were the topic.
* * *
The following morning Andrés and I were awakened by someone banging on the van. Andrés opened the door and there was papa with the shotgun.
“Esto no es aceptable!” He said waving the shotgun in a threatening manner.
“Pero papá!” I said.
"Ustedes dos se van a matrimonio esta tarde!"
“Oh papá, gracias!” I exclaimed throwing my arms around his neck.
“Good news I take it,” Andrés said.
“Papa says we must marry, this afternoon!”
And that's how it happen, papa goaded Father Gabriel into performing un matrimonio de emergencia, something they invented for the occasion.
* * *
Later Andrés and I were in the van, lying in bed, talking.
“You do realize that I'm going to keep you barefoot and pregnant?”
Of course I had heard the term 'barefoot and pregnant' before, so I knew what it meant. Usually used when talking in a derogatory way about poor uneducated women. Andrés can keep me barefoot and pregnant, until I want to do something else that is.
“You're already halfway there,” I said showing him the socks on my feet.
The End (for now)
