La Trinidad

I was startled out of my sleep as the car hit a bump on the road. I’m not sure when I dosed off exactly, but according to Helio I had been out for the last hour or so. I wiped the sleep away from my eyes and peered out the window. I realized we were in another town as I could make out buildings on the side of the road, dark blurs that sprung out from the ground. Upon asking, I learned we finally reached our destination of La Trinidad, Sinaloa. It was early the next morning, Christmas morning, during the grey hour that belongs neither to night or day, and the town was still hidden in shadows since the sun hadn’t risen yet. Helio found the dirt path that led to his parents’ home from memory as I found myself anxious to get out of the vehicle and off the never ending road.  The house was a small building laying on the corner of the street, made of bricks painted a bright Persian blue with a white iron gate surrounding the entire property. Within the gates a garden fabricated of an assortment of fruit trees and bushes that bore flowers of all colors imaginable flourished in all its savage glory. We parked in the driveway and were greeted by his mother, Ofelia. A short, dark skinned woman with Indian characteristics. Her hair was cut short, most likely to avoid having to spend hours trying to tame it as it went wild in the humidity that was common in La Trinidad. She was still dressed in a green nightgown covered in tiny pink flowers and it was evident that she hadn’t gotten much sleep, most likely due to the fact that we hadn’t arrived sooner, her face looked abnormally weary and bland since she wore no makeup. She took Helio in her arms in a tight embrace, kissing him on his forehead obviously relieved her son had made the trip safely. 

After greeting me, she ushered us into her home and directly into her kitchen where she was quick to serve us up a plate crammed full with tamales from the night before, and two cups of very much needed coffee.  I scanned my surroundings while devouring the delectable meal his mother had served us. We were in a large room that included the kitchen, dining room, and living room all with the same blue cement floor, apparently these people were fond of the color blue. The walls were painted an off white color with a variety of framed painting of saints hanging from rusted nails. The kitchen was the first room I surveyed, a small beige stove stood in the corner with a large metal pot resting on it which made the stove look all the more miniscule. Next to that there was a white metal table where the dish rack and black microwave were kept, and hiding behind the open door, stood the refrigerator covered in a variety of magnets. The entire kitchen was wrapped in light brown cupboards and there was only one window, by the sink, dressed in Pepto-Bismol pink curtains. The living room was an array of mismatch furniture including two bulging, brown couches lumpy and deformed from overuse, a wooden center table with a book tucked under one of its legs and a warped shelf where the ancient television set complete with bunny ear antennae rested. In the far corner stood a shriveling Christmas tree that I'm sure had seen better days, veiled in faded ornaments and twinkling multi-colored lights. I was snapped out of my critique of the home by Ofelia’s voice just then.

“How do you like our Rancho?” she asked in her low monotone voice.

“Oh, it’s quite beautiful, ma’am” I lied.

What else was I supposed to say? I was after all staying in her home which she opened to me, her son’s “good friend “. Don’t get me wrong, I had seen much worse than this, but I couldn’t help myself in my critique of the home. Let’s just say their home was humble for lack of a better word. But at least this way we would avoid having to pay for a hotel and after all they had internet so I wouldn’t be dying of boredom.

Upon finishing our meal, we unloaded the car and then the three of us took a seat in the living room and discussed the details of our trip, details that you, the reader, already know. Ofelia was going through the gifts we had brought them from Juarez glorifying anything that her favorite son had picked out just for her when we were startled by a loud explosion coming from outside. The lights all went out and we were left sitting in darkness.  The first thing to cross my mind was gun shots but as it turned out, it was nothing so dramatic, just a blown up transformer on a light pole outside.

“Looks like a sign I should start getting ready for church” his mother laughed. “Would you mind giving me a ride once I’m ready?”

Of course, we agreed to take her to mass, how could we say no? Once his mother had made herself decent enough for mass, we all jumped into the car and made our way over to La Iglesia De La Santisima Trinidad which stood in the middle of the tiny pueblo. Sitting in the backseat, since mother must go in the front, I observed the scenery.  The homes, all a different hue from the vast spectrum of colors, were build in front of the dirt road, the same dirt road that was rampant with stray dogs and groups of locals walking around only stopping at the corner to share that day’s juicy gossip. I noticed that the shops were already opening for business even though it was too early and Christmas morning none the less, yet there they were, lifting the heavy metal sheets that were used to secure the shops windows at night. It appeared each home came complete with an older woman to sweep the patio with brooms made of branches and to water their share of the dirt road mentioned above.  The air was filled with the sound of Roosters singing their daily melody to the sun up above and around each corner my eyes were assaulted with greenery as Mother Nature reigned here with her monstrous trees towering everywhere. La Trinidad was one of those towns where everybody knew everybody and it was evident as people on the streets would greet us as we passed, even me, an outsider.  Yes, we found ourselves in a tiny Mexican town where people would rather walk than drive, which wasn’t surprising since it would seem there were far more horses to ride than there were automobiles. The park around the corner was filled with barefooted children, all different shades of copper, climbing the rusted bars of the playground like tiny monkeys would a tree. And the market was filled with Las Comadres out to buy produce and meats for that evening’s meal and of course to complain about how lazy their husbands back home were. There was no doubt in my mind that this town was forgotten by time.

We dropped off his mother at the local church, a small adobe chapel with wooden doors covered in carvings of angels slaying demons, and were soon on our way to explore the town. When I say explore I’m referring to myself as Helio grew up here, so what I really meant to say is we were soon on our way so that Helio could give me the grand tour of the place.  In all honesty there wasn’t much to see in this forgotten corner of the world, it was after all just a simple town. But Helio assured me he would take me to the places worth visiting in the days to come, including the beach that was less than half an hour away. But none the less, I enjoyed the drive, and was amused as Helio showed me the schools he had gone to and the different places he liked to get in trouble at. It was great finally getting an image to apply to the many stories he had shared with me before, and I found myself recalling these stories, asking him if that was the ditch where he lost his virginity, or if that was the store where they found the butcher who suffered a heart attack, dead in the freezer. Things here were peaceful and the climate was amazing and it was a nice change from the bustling streets back in Juarez littered in trash and countless beggars who attacked you for whatever change you had in your pocket.

I was reminded by the sharp jabs in my stomach that lunchtime had come around and we started discussing what to grab to eat. Helio mentioned a stand in the middle of town that sold some delicious shrimp cocktails. I was surprised he even thought of seafood since the thought of it made me sick. But he mentioned he had been craving them for the longest now given that they didn’t make them the same back home so I decided to go along with the idea. I figured, what the hell, you’re in Sinaloa try something different.  We found ourselves at the stand sooner than later and we exited the car to go order some of these, according to Helio, delicious cocktails. The stand was called Mariscocos La Mora and was located on the principal street that cut through La Trinidad, the only paved road which with only two lanes, one for going and one for coming.  The stand was built in the front yard of the owner’s home and was made up of white, rusted sheets of metal surrounding a blue tiled countertop complete with a working sink. The floor surrounding the stand was cluttered with coconuts, which Helio told me grew in abundance in these parts. Apparently, the cocktails were served in hollowed coconut shells.  The establishment was surrounded by locals all waiting anxiously for their turn to order and a man of about thirty with dark, oily skin and dressed like he had stepped out of a old western movie was busy hacking away at the coconuts he picked up right off of the floor.

“You sure you want to try these?” Helio questioned me.

“What do I got to lose?” I replied. “Anyways, if I don’t like them you can just eat mine and I’ll find something else to eat.”

We proceeded to order two Mariscocos and waited patiently as the man prepared them. I was viewing in awe as the man hacked open the coconuts with a giant machete, half expecting him to lose some fingers at any moment. But he had been doing this for some time now and was an expert with the blade, no fingers in our shrimp cocktails today. Just then, I heard a man screaming down the street and turned to find a man walking in our direction yelling obscenities at nobody in particular. I could tell by the way he walked, slumped over and stumbling with one arm twisted at his side, that he was obviously mentally challenged. He wore some dirty, baggy jeans and a purple cotton t-shirt. He too was dark complected as was the norm in these parts, and had a head full of mangy, pitch black hair. Even from this distance I could see that the man was missing various teeth and whatever teeth he did possess were stained yellow and covered in decay. The owner must have seen the expression on my face because he assured me that the man was harmless and would probably just pass us by. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case, because as soon as he reached us he started babbling something I couldn’t make out, some crazy talk only he could decipher. I tried to be polite and smiled at him but this only further provoked him as he reached out with his good arm and grabbed me by my right arm. I was startled to say the least, and found myself panicking as I couldn’t tear myself away from his deadly grasp. I peered into his face, slim and birdlike with his long pointed nose and I could smell his foul breath as he proceeded to scream at me, spitting with every word.  

“Jose! Let him go!” the owner of the stand yelled at my attacker. But he either couldn’t hear him or didn’t care much for his words.  I grabbed his arm and finally managed to pull free from him jumping back and away from him but to my horror, he followed me!

“Give him some change, that’s probably what he wants” the owner of the stand called out to me. Without hesitation I reached into my pocket and pulled out whatever coins I had in there. I handed them over to him and much to my surprise he calmed down. He pocketed what I gave him and then just continued on his way.

“What the fuck was that all about” I exclaimed, never once removing my sight from the crazy incase he decided to come back.

“That was Jose, the local nut bag”

“He shouldn’t be let out on his own. That shit was fucked up! I just about shit my god damn pants!”

The three of us laughed as I realized that some locals had been viewing the whole thing.  Yet nobody had lifted a finger to do anything about it.

“My first day here and I almost lost my fucken arm over some change.” I said turning back towards Helio.

He however was laughing, at me I might add.

“What’s so god damn funny?”

“You should have seen your face!”

“Well, I’d like to see how you would have reacted. And thanks for not doing anything asshole!”

“Well, that’s over now. Now let’s eat these shrimp cocktails, you’re gonna love them!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I realized I had queened out, pretty much like you might expect one of “us” to react to a spider.  I forgot about the ordeal soon enough as we were handed our shrimp cocktails and we took a seat at a nearby table.

“These so better be worth it punk, after what just happened.” I shot at Helio.

I dug into the coconut and was amazed at how large the shrimp were.  Helio mentioned they catch them fresh here and that’s why they were so good, no preservatives added to them like the shrimp we have back home.  I finished every last bit of it much to Helio’s amazement, and we poured back into the car.

“What do you want to do now?” Helio asked.

“I need a fucken beer. I’m still a bit worked up from earlier”

“Yes sir! One beer coming right up”

The car rattled to a start and we drove off in search of a store where we could get some beer.