El Tiempo Pasa
El Tiempo Pasa
Saniego
stepped down the damp metallic staircase to the moldy cement floor of the
prison that had held his father since 1991; he never thought he would be here.
He
tried not to breathe through his nose- but a wave of nervous nausea overcame
him. He was forced to inhale deeply. The pungent odor of a hundred years of
punished men wafted through his senses as he approached the bars of the single
basement cell without looking up.
“What
do you need?” growled the voice of a man Saniego had not seen in nearly a
decade. Saniego stared at the slick cement near his feet. Slowly, he raised his
eyes through the bars of the cell.
“I
need your signature. It’s some paperwork. For Mom.” Saniego ground his teeth
together as he pressed himself to maintain his gaze.
The
gruff voice wavered, “I guess she’s had about enough?”
“Yeah”
Saniego faltered, and quickly averted his eyes toward his thin flip flops.
Saniego’s next move would determine the course of his mother’s happiness. He
raised the manila envelope and blue pen through the bars of the cell toward the
man who had been the object of his disgust for so long. The watchful eyes of
the guard read “Cuidado- El hombre es
peligroso.”
Carlos
Santiago Rael snatched the pen and package. He raised his eyebrows as he read
the letterhead on the envelope. He took one long look at his eldest son and
then spit on the ground at Saniego’s feet. Saniego remained silent. His father
moved toward the rear of the cell and sat down to look at the paperwork. After
squinting for a moment, he asked the guard for a pair of glasses.
Saniego
watched through his eyelashes. If his father did not sign the papers, his
mother and the man who was his stepfather would have to postpone or cancel
their upcoming marriage ceremony. This would also mean that Marcos would be
deported back to
income for his mother and four younger brothers.
The
clock ticked on as the man behind the bars continued his laborious reading.
Saniego stood silently. The only man in the damp room who made any noise was
the guard: the noisy shallow breathing of a man who no longer fit into his
pants at the waistline. Saniego stole a daring glance up at his father.
“Are
you watching me, boy?” The man raised the tension in his voice. Saniego dropped
his gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Filthy whore. It’s
another man, I know it.”
Saniego’s
stomach dropped to hear such a reference to the woman who had been
embarrassingly faithful to this sack of shit for the first six years of his
imprisonment. Still, he remained submissive.
Carlos
Carlos
held the gun steadily at arms length. His dark eyes cut across the dark and
silent
Colorado
He knew someone was here. Eventually he reached the small outboard, and threw a
leg over the side.
“Ough!”
His friend and business partner Marcos Gonzalez had apparently been sleeping in
the boat.
“Where
have you been?” Carlos snarled as Marcos rubbed his eyes. “We were supposed to
meet at the house over an hour ago!”
“I’ve
been here. I was followed, so I tried to throw whoever it was off of the
trail.”
“And
you came here? You dumb bastard! Why didn’t you go home? They’ll come here
first!”
“Oh.
Right. Well, I can’t go home. I broke things off with Tiffany.”
“You
mean she kicked you out. Goddammit, Marcos. What if we get caught? Get out of
the goddamn boat. Let’s go inside and figure this thing out.” Carlos’ stomach
sunk. He placed his backpack that held the precious kilos into a cooler on the
boat that Marcos had vacated. What were they supposed to do now? Their cover
was blown if the cops had seen Marcos come down to the marina they both
operated.
Marcos
slumped down at the break room table inside the small office. Carlos sat down with
two cups of coffee, “I’m sorry about your woman, Marcos.”
“That’s
what I get for dating another stripper, right?”
“Well.
I’m not gonna say it.” Carlos smiled silently. Marcos had been his friend for
years and had always chosen the wrong women to give his affection to. This
thought turned his mind to Alejandra. She would be worried. It was already
after
night without their father. He wished he knew how to give them a better life
than this.
Marcos
Marcos
stared silently at the murky water in the small lake. The police had been
there. They had found Carlos’ boat. They had torn it apart. They had left it in
shambles.
He
and Carlos should have known it was a shabby cover when they bought it. This
was
profitable could a marina be? Of course they would be suspect.
The
police would be at the Rael house by now. All the boys would be in their Sunday
clothes, and Alejandra would be making a lunch for their family. After they
arrested Carlos, they’d be back to check out the place.
If
they caught him, he’d be back in a Mexican prison in no time flat.
He
certainly didn’t need to hang around and wait for them.
Saniego
It
must have been 110 degrees in the small one bedroom downtown apartment that
Saniego rented for $400 a month. He lay sprawled on the mattress that had
followed him north to the city from his childhood home. Facing the wall next to
him was a girl in the t-shirt he had been wearing last night. He reached for
the glass of water on the low windowsill.
would be calling any minute now to get the weekly update.
Saniego
gently stroked the silky hair of the girl until she awoke. “It’s late,” he kissed her forehead. She blinked several
times and sat up slowly. He rose, walked across the hall to the bathroom and
brushed his teeth. He pulled on crumpled jeans, buttoned them, and ran damp
hands through dark curls.
The
girl, dressed, poked her head around the corner “You know, I could decorate the
walls. You’ve been here for a year and a half.” Saniego smiled at her and spit
the remaining toothpaste into the sink.
He
gave her a quick kiss and a sincere hug, “Thanks for being here when I need you.”
She returned his smile and exited the door.
The
phone rang. Clock work. He picked it up. “Momma. It’s your San-yego. Are you
beautiful today?” He truly loved his mother.
He
heard the hesitation in her voice, “No. I’m not so beautiful today. I have a
confession to make, and I need you to listen.”
Alejandra
Alejandra
sat at the kitchen table in her terrycloth bathrobe at
at the pages of the newspaper. She counted the cash she had left. Government relief, my ass she thought. It
had been five and a half years since Carlos had been taken to prison. She
missed him so much. She used to visit him- but weeks turned into months. Months
turned into years. How long had it been?
She
re-counted the money. It was not enough even to feed the boys this week. She
looked back at the paper but couldn’t interpret anything but the phone numbers.
What else could she pawn? What could
they live without? What bill could she put off next? Please God, I need you. The doorbell rang. Let it be Ed McMahon.
“What
do you want, Marcos?” Alejandra barked at the man she liked to blame for
Carlos’ absence.
“I’m
so sorry it’s been so long. I came by to drop this off.” Marcos handed
Alejandra a small manila envelope of money. “No one deserves it more than you
and the boys. I hope you can forgive me.”
Alejandra
stared at the envelope in her hand. It was white, glued shut. Just like the
ones Carlos had handed her for years. She felt the weight of the money, opened
her mouth to speak but hesitated. She looked down at his smooth loafers and
gold watch.
“Come
on in. Marcos, can I get you something to drink?”
Carlos
Nine
years ago today I was brought here. And now, she’s leaving me for another man.
Nine years of punishment, sixteen more to go. We were supposed to grow old
together. I was supposed to be her only husband. I was supposed to be the one
to protect her. Five boys and their mother. What did I do to get here?
He’s
grown to look so much like his mother. She
was a beautiful woman. And now his son could not even look him in the eye. I’m
sorry for what I’ve put you through.
The
shoulders of his son twitched so slightly it was hard to detect in the waning
light through the single window. “Who is it? Who is taking my place as your
father?” He asked the nervous boy.
A
single name was all that dropped from the lips of the pathetic son who would
squash his last chance at imagining happiness in the outside world.
“Marcos
Gonzales.”
Carlos
Santiago Rael sucked in the stale air. He gripped the manila envelope and all
of its contents and raised them to eye level. He held the bundle tightly with both fists and
growled.
Alejandra
Her
son was so handsome, just like his
father. She turned back to the stove to flip the pancakes and add a little
more cinnamon, his favorite. How can she make him see why she had held onto her
marriage?
“Momma.
Why did you wait until now?” Her son looked at her with disappointment on his
strong face. She remembered the last time they had all been together as a
family. It was a Sunday morning, and all seven of them had just gotten home
from an early morning mass. Carlos had been wearing his new black suit and was
changing out of it when the doorbell rang…
“Momma.
Why?” Saniego was pleading with her for an answer. In her eyes, she tried to
explain that even now, nine years later, she still loved his father. He had
been a strong, handsome man. And he had vowed to protect her and stand by her
side. Forever.
She
said nothing. The pancakes had begun to burn.
“Momma,
your wedding to Marcos is next week!”
She
didn’t know what to say. She turned to the stove, removed the charred cakes to
the trash, and laid her clean fingertips on the manila envelope next to the
microwave. She gingerly raised it to Saniego, her oldest son, and whispered
“Please. I need you to do this for me.”
Saniego
Saniego
lunged at the bars in front of him. He ignored the slime that covered the front
of his dirty t-shirt, or the shouts of the guard for backup. “No! Don’t!”
His
father growled, paused, and lowered his arms. He did not let go of the papers,
but he did not tear them. Instead, his angry gaze moved towards his son. They
held a fixated stare.
The
stomp of boots on the metal staircase brought their single moment together as
father and son to an end. Four more large white men in sweaty nylon uniforms
pointed guns toward the man inside the cage.
“Please,
Dad. She needs you.”
The Pueblo
Chieftain
Sunday,
July 14th. The newspaper ran two articles on separate pages that
day:
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