Mr. Cruz walks with a cane, hobbles a bit and when he talks he uses his hands in a funny manner, usually expressing himself with both palms out and fingers fanned. The bigger the hand is exposed, the more glorious and dramatic the situation. Mr. Cruz is also expected of maybe liking a bit of cerveza in the morning, or so it seems. He has said he can do some repairs around the house that need doing…and it is suspected that he may be a ‘yes man’. He showed up later than expected, slurring and a bit wobbly, but ready to work.
One problem, no tools. How can one work with no tools. He says he needs to get some tools. Funny, after being gone about 15 minutes, as we are walking the dogs, we see Mr. Cruz talking to a neighbor in the driveway. He is not seen back at the house for about another 45 minutes. Tools? Booze? Talking politics with a compadre? Who knows? He is finally ready to work. His chore is to sort out the kitchen faucet. Mr. Cruz tells us he has to turn the water off to get the job done, but it will not take long. It is around 11 a.m.
All hygiene and other necessities are put on hold until further notice.
It is not too long into the procedure that we are informed that Mr. Cruz needs some new hoses, because his aren’t long enough. We take him where he needs to go. We take him to more places he needs to go… Refer to rule #1 of living here.
It is now nearing 3 pm, and Mr. Cruz is seen standing in the kitchen swigging from a coke, his shirt soaking wet and his wobbly, fat feet standing in a few inches of water on the red tile floor. I do not know if it is sweat that covers him, or just water. He sighs, puts his drink down, wipes his forehead and smiles. He points to the sink, shakes his head yes and lays back down into the puddle of water and crawls up under the sink.
Tonya says to look outside. In the back, Marie Antonia is bathing with a hose in the back yard. How do you bathe with water outside if the water is turned off? Tonya said that Maria Antonia says you never really lose water here. If it is off inside it works outside. If it is off outside, it works inside. (Refer to rule #1). We laugh at the sight of her cleaning up with the hose and in the kitchen, Mr. Cruz still messing with the sink.
Marie Antonia, out back washing with the hose. (Mr. Cruz and his mess not pictured)Sometime after 4pm, Mr. Cruz informs us that the job is done. He hails us into the kitchen. It is disgusting. There are bindles rags everywhere, water still standing throughout the kitchen, his empty coke bottle on the counter and he, soaking wet, smiles and points to the faucet. He hobbles over and draws us closer to his magnificent job. He holds a finger up as if he is Einstein and has just had a fantastic idea, it turns out it is almost as brilliant as Einstein. He says he’s done the job, but wants us to look at one little problem. He turns the handle towards the wall, and it stops dead against the back wall. Yes, the handle turns, but not enough to allow water to flow.
I can’t believe it. Almost 5 hours of work and he didn’t think to adjust the handles to suit the position of the faucet. Tonya almost drops to the floor with frustration. I tell her to tell Mr. Cruz to reposition the handles so they will turn. The light bulb in his head clinks on, and he smiles and shakes his head. He pops off the top off a handle and starts to loosen the screw. The he grabs a nice Wusthof knife and pokes it into the handle to aid in the chore, after all, when no Phillips head is around, nice pricey kitchen tools work just fine. I can’t believe it. I run to the other room and grab an old, dull knife and bring it to him. “Here, this one is better!” and I shove it in to his hand. He takes the old knife and continues to do the final touches.
Mr. Cruz finishes almost 6 hours after the ordeal started. He leaves us with a working faucet, a wet floor, enough wet rags to stop up a leaky dyke, a few buckets and standing water still on the floor. He will be back on Tuesday for another round of house repairs.
Marie Antonia is the maid who helps out once a week. She used to do more, but now she has another job and keeps busy trying to earn as much as she can. She is a hard worker. She is 17. She comes from Vera Cruz and her mother lives in a ruddy place complete with a trodden dirt floor. She has two brothers. One of them has just returned form the U.S. “Never say you can speak English”, he told his younger sister. “Always say you speak a little. If you say you can speak, the Americans will just go on and on so fast, and will never stop asking questions”. This is what she tells us in one of her late night impromptu chat sessions.
Not too sure of her actual job, all we know is that she works in a former bull fighting ring which now houses public baths of some kind. She can pull some long hours. It is not the most pleasing job, as even she will attest. She pops in at home around the same time each night. She is always bright and friendly, even after working over 15 hours or so. Usually, she comes in and does a few things she needs to do. She says hello then disappears for a few, then she’s back, usually propped up against the couch or the wall and ready to talk. This can go on for quite some time too. She is rambunctious and has a heart of gold. Marie Antonia can talk, and even if only by means of translation, she is totally fascinating.
Her brother used a coyote to go to America. He left with 20,000 pesos in his pocket (about $2,000). I ask if he was afraid of the trip with the coyote. “No”, she says in a flash, then points out the only Mexicans afraid of coyotes are Oaxacans and Tolucans, and smiles brightly as she informs us of the others’ weakness. “Oaxacans and Tolucans are afraid of everything.”, she adds.
The other brother moved away from home, then moved back. He stole from another home so now he cannot leave. “What do you mean, stole from another home? Did he rob a place and go to jail?”
“No. He stole a girl”
“You’re brother is a kidnapper?”
She laughs at my naiveté. “No! He stole a girl. She is young, so now he must stay at home…”. Obviously I do not get the subtleties of Mexicans telling of how their siblings have ‘robbed the cradle’. Got it!
Camera shy, caught in the middle of story telling.She weaves in and out of things here and at home, the topics changing wildly, but mostly she wants to talk about home. I thin it comes form Tonya asking about her mother. Marie Antonia goes to her room and brings us out some photographs. She wants to be a model, and shows us how good she can look, showing us her favorite photo. She shows us her family and her brother that went to America and “…got fat from eating in Chinese restaurants”. She is proud of her nephews too, and shows several pictures. In every one, the family is posed outside what looks like a corroded dirt mound or inside the simple home, bare light bulbs overhead and dirt floor beneath their feet.
“There are parrots everywhere at home. They are all up in the trees, everywhere you look. It is beautiful.” I tell her to bring us one after she visits next time. She says she will try. “You used to be able to just grab them when they are young, and then you can train them”, and she tells of how the villagers go about clipping their wings. They wised up though. When they realized how people wanted them as pets, now they catch them all and sell them to the foreigners.
Next she tells of how a tiger was loose in her village. “You sure it was a tiger?” I asked. I look to Tonya and ask how a tiger would be loose in Central America. Tigers do not belong there; it had to be some other big cat.
‘No, it was a tiger! We saw it!” and she described…a tiger. “No one knows where it came from, it just showed up.” She is animated as she tells the story of the rampant tiger, she reaches up as if she is grabbing something, “when he was seen, they rang the bell so that everyone would know it was dangerous, and to go to their houses”. The tiger would prowl through the village at night and rip up people’s clothing left out to dry. He would rummage for food, and dig holes in the dirt outside. You could see his big paw prints and his claws left big marks on the ground, she said accenting the description by motioning as if she were digging and holding up her hands, imitating a tiger with huge claws.
Wildlife was the hot topic last night. It encompassed toucans and all sorts of birds and animals around her home. Then it got a bit weird.
“My grandmother would talk to snakes”, she started. Tonya looked at me odd, her eyes lit up.
“What do you mean she talked to snakes!”? I laughed out loud. This was definitely going to need a glass of wine for accompaniment.
“She talked to snakes! She would stand outside and all the snakes would gather round and be attentive to her. She would stand and talk and be surrounded by snakes…and they listened to her.” Hmmm. Some kinda voodoo stuff, no doubt. “In my village, there is white and black magic. My grandfather practiced white magic. He would take away the spells of those who practiced black magic. He taught my grandmother many secrets. He taught her how to talk to the snakes. It did good things for the people and the other ones did not like him. That is why they killed him.”
What do you say to that? I was curious though, so I asked how he died. She said that the black magic practitioners had schemed up some devious plot. They used their hoodoo to encompass the grandfather. He was kidnapped from his simple home by some of the known evildoers, and never seen again. To this day, no one has ever seen him again. This affected her grandmother very much. She was distraught. Obviously deeply hurt, she wanted to know why these things had happened. She happened upon God, and forgot her evil ways. She lost all her abilities and tricks. It is if she had her mind wiped clean, according to Marie Antonia. “Now she can go outside and when she sees a snake, it is as if nothing ever happened. She no longer speaks to them or talks about it. She treats them as anyone else would…they are just snakes now, not special spirits.”
Her tales of life in her village are fascinating. Even more so is her conviction of her spiritual beliefs. Obviously growing up around all sorts of hoodoo voodoo stuff can have an impact on you, as well as being a Mexican growing up in Catholic central, Mexico. She claims to be spiritually aware, but not Catholic. “I believe in God, but not the way the Catholics do…”. She asks what we believe. She does not really know what Baptist means, but we have a lot in common as we would discover.
Her lecture on Saints went on for quiet some time. They re pointless, and she thinks it is silly the way Catholics cling to them. “Why waste time asking the Saints to talk to God for you? That is like me asking my brother to tell mom something, when I can talk to mom myself. Why do I need my brother to talk to my mom for me, when I can do it myself?” she says smiling. “Why waste time. Talk to God yourself…you do not need anyone to get in the way”. Her simplicity is fantastic. Her and Tonya go on and on about Saints and the role they play here in Central America.
A saint can be anything according to Marie Antonia, and she gives examples of typical Mexican views on their spirituality. She points at a make believe icon somewhere across the room, “You pray to your little ‘burrito’. You pray everyday for help and guidance…” and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You think your little donkey can do anything? No! It is your faith that does the work…not that little donkey!” Her choices of examples are entertaining to say the least. We are all laughing, agreeing and disagreeing. Obviously, she is lit up, and continues on. God forbid, she even starts in on the Virgin!!!!! “ The Virgin. You go to her in church. You pray to her”, she says with her eyes wide with excitement. Pointing to her head, she says in wonderment, “She has eyes” and she shakes her head in disappointment, “but she cannot see. She has ears, but does not hear you. She has feet, but cannot move..” She shakes her head and pleads with why anyone would look to a statue for help. The tales of saints and sinners and wildlife goes on until after midnight. The bottle of wine was only half full to boot!
This is the 17 year old who was out bathing in a hose in the backyard. This is the housekeeper, the young girl who is privy to whatever kind of craziness happens daily in the public baths. She keeps a notebook handy and writes down commands in English for the dogs. Wise beyond her years. Simple. Typical of a teenager, she wants to be beautiful, to be a model. I look forward to many more late nights and conversations with Marie Antonia. I understand why Tonya loves her so much now.
A copy of Marie Antonia's favorite photo of herself.
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