The Fun Begins
1-24-03

It's our first trip over low-tide pass, us heading over to El Carrizalito with truckload of provisions, to reestablish camp. Chayo, in his small white pickup, had taken the lead, him haulin' some of our felt-essential shit, also.

Soon as we're around obstructing boulders we see the scenic violations that Saul, the eco-terrorist whose invading space on Historic Rancho Carrizalito, hurls outward at the rest of the world. A green sign ahead advertises the presence of "Saul and Patty Gonzalez": Parcel #30. Not only has this man destroyed the place, but also he's proud of it.

The eyesore is a slap in the face, the senses. In our absence he'd been busily pursuing his chase after his obscene fantasies. I'd been warned as to what I could expect...but still I found things stunning. Before us stood six double sections of 12" steel well casing stood on end as support for a rather expansive two story structure, a restaurant, supposedly. My oh my...this ape-like character had been moving forward. Chayo waited for us where the road now splits.

Marcia had voiced anxious opinions as to which path we should take. She didn't want to start right off with confrontations. My attitude was, "screw it." In our absence Saul had been playing games with the historic roadway again. The past season I'd, legally, forced this roadway back open (Small satisfactions). I wasn't about to take his new way across his parcel, that he'd been insisting all use, and at the last minute Marcia said, "Yeah. Let's go for it."

Chayo watching, I walk up hill and untie rope, pull slacked barbwire and post gate aside. Marcia follows with truck as I stride to second gate and do the same. On way there I couldn't' help but notice how ambitious this schoolteacher was in making his mess. He'd gone through major expense to get that far. Those steel tubes were seriously, cemented in. Chayo pulled up behind where Marcia'd stopped for me at second obstruction. He got out and the three of us shared comments about the trashed appearance of the place. Obvious where the small dead trees that had been planted the past season. I remarked about this to Chayo. "They don't like salt water," he replied dryly.

Ha! This clown's great well project. Off to the west the windmill stood motionless. As predicted what little semi fresh water that was struck initially...had been sucked up and replaced with much saltier. This but schoolteacher had thrown a lot of bucks away on that flop. (We've been wondering for a long time...just where the heck he comes by all this recklessly spent money?)

We're pulling away as Jose-Luis, the guy who's watching Saul's parcel, a member of Alejo's family and an old friend of ours, comes walking upon the scene, him just smiling and waving.

We find our camp in tolerably good condition. The wind and the sun had obviously had their ways with our camouflage netting, but that we'd expected. Clean up and unloading went forward smoothly...right up until martini time, which we enjoyed around fire, us toasting our luck.

Two A.M. the next morning, our senses screamed to full alert. We were jerked awake, us in direct zone of attack! No. It wasn't irate ejido members nor Saul er that crazy new parcel buyer. It was a skunk!

We'd moved in on it. Apparently the shock of having two humans, three dogs and three cats moving in its space pissed it off. Full blast it let its displeasure known. Damn thing was denned up between the tiny, holy bottom skin of this stationary trailer and its floor.

Ugh. Damn. Gag. Gag. Tried to go back to sleep with my head under the covers but that helped very little. The air was so thick with musk that my mouth tasted of skunk even hours after when I tried to down my A.M. coffee, us forced outside round rebuilt campfire.

The next day is a Saturday. We still have to move important things that we'd left at San Cosme our road trailer. Because that schoolteacher almost always shows on weekends we were pretty sure that stage was set for direct confrontation. Marcia's drivin'. As we approach the destruction zone, her just a little on the nervous side, she asks which way she should attempt. Silly girl. I easily stated my choice.

Well before we get there, we detect this hulking figure advancing towards old-road gateway. As we close we see him arranging numerous papers that he slides into tan folder that he holds tightly to his chest, or better yet the upper extension of his massive belly. With one finger he's taping this as Marcia comes to dead stop where he's blocking way with his bulk. Maybe it's a good thing she was one with feet on pedals.

I get out and walk up face to face with this slop-foreheaded mass of flesh. His beady eyes glare at me from behind significant folds of obesity that surround them. He invites me to cross that fence line, he's daring me.

"Are we going to fight about this road again?" I ask; a rhetorical question, I assure you.

"Si!" he smiles and nods in an aggressive affirmative.

"Well. Ok. I'm ready and willing," I replied with a smile. "Adios."

I directed Marcia to take his new road. That provocation was sufficient to get the ball rolling....

Through Chayo I arrange a meeting with the new mayor of Agua Verde, who'd replaced Juan Morrio since I'd written "Small Satisfactions" last season. Chayo described her as a good person and not an ejido member, which we found much for our liking. This is on the next day, a Sunday.

Chayo, Marcia and I make our way to Agua Verde town, El Puerto. We weave our way around numerous casa, through scattered goats and loose- running pigs, some chickens, and naturally a host of barking dogs. Stopping where Chayo directs us we find ourselves along side modest but neat casa with grandmotherly-type senora setting outside at large, wide, cloth-covered table, she's quite rounded but not really obese. Her face is handsome, intelligent looking even from a distance. And she's smiling. Like I said, this was prearranged.

We're waved inside gate and offered seat there in shade with her. I know she's been somewhat prepped so after opening round of joking banter I dive right in on the subject matter. I'm brief and to the point. She's patient with my Spanish.

"The big fat one," her description, not mine, had come to talk to her about this bad gringo who'd been giving him problems. She'd talked to the former mayor who'd told her of past events. She had some idea of what was shakin' down.

All she could do was talk to the Presidente de Municipal the next time she was scheduled to meet with him in Loreto. That would be on the 15th, which was more than two weeks away.

Would she mind if I met her in Loreto and went to see the Presidente with her? I queried.

"No." She had no objections to that what so ever.

Great! We made a date, us to meet at the Café Ole, mas o menus at 9 A..M. Me, the big spender, I'd buy us all a breakfast. I thanked the lady for her time, her permitting me to bother her on a Sunday.

"No problema!" she assured me.

"The 15th!" I shouted out as we backed outta area.

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com