Progress

The night we’d come back from Loreto, after initiating those charges that we hoped would stop Trojillo’s “Scorched Earth” policies, a west wind kicked up...and then built to ferocious intensity. Both Marcia and I understood well that force had to have struck that fat man’s long, stretched out work camp. Prophetic, is what I was thinking. A preemtive strike by mother nature. Marcia couldn’t wait to go off with camera next A.M., to capture on celluloid what she knew she’d find. She did not come home disappointed. “Trash-strewn devastation,” that’s report she gave.

We had no expectations of authorities descending upon that ape immediately. We’d wait two, three days; see what developed. Visiting San Cosme several days after our return, I asked Chayo if any officials had shown yet. “No,” he simply exchanged; him, too, wanting to see some action. Later that day Marcia placed a call to Roberto’s with cell phone, her hoping to, perhaps, speed up the process. Roberto’d told her that a visit by authorities was planned for that weekend. “Weekend?” I questioned. I’d never suspected any official moving on a weekend.

It was a quiet Monday morning when the two of us made an inspection walk to San Cosme. As trail we were moving along rose up and then summounted small mesa that encompassed that eco-disaster zone, there was an erie quiet there where wind’s violence still lay in evidence. As we moved further yet into this disputed territory we detected no human forms. Gosh we questioned ourselves, could it be that the system had done its work this clean and efficiently? But then, over by the site of the wells excavation, just faintly, we thought we detected man-made utterances.

Walking towards this then we were both disappointed to see live bodies hunched down around this hole in the ground. What we’d heard was those on top, two of them, hollering down into the depths to another.

Word had reached us through Coyote Bob that they’d struck sweet water, 10 meters deep. Because of the amount of rain that had fallen with last falls hurricane, this really didn’t surprise me much. The amount of water still laying in small lakes in the major arroyos in the area is greater than we’d ever seen. The spring on Carrizalito was keeping a stair step of pools brim full with is flowing stream of good water.

I was surprised at how well constructed this well already was. They’d framed its inner walls with a thick layer of concrete. Another surprise was the frame for a wind mill that lay there in process of reassembly. With a rope, a five gallon bucket, loaded with debris by man in bottom, was hoisted by those on top.

“No officials came to stop you?” I questioned the foreman.

“No,” he replied with sincere nonchalance.

“They’ll be here,” I assured him; to which he just shrugged his shoulders.

I told him I wanted to thank Trojillo for such a nice well. I pointed up to the ancient stone fence that was the historic south limit of El Carrizalito. We left them there with that message. I was sure it would get back to the hard headed oaf who was paying them.

In regards to rather rapid results, our timing couldn’t have been worse. There was a hotly contested municipal election campaign grinding towards the finish line. Marcia and I, around martini time fire, finally woke up to that reality. Politics, the movement of all echelons of governmental players, dominates all...dictates who and what will move, and when. We advised ourselves to slow down, remember where we were at...and where we’d just come back to heal from.

Two weeks from our first visit we’re back in Roberto’s office again.

He has talked to our lawyer, Sr. Yee: Tony. Tony had told him that because the environmental agency in charge of forestry was staffed so superficially (one officer for all of the municipal district of Loreto, a rather immense area) and because its staff had been temporarily moved to another vast area, for a week or so...nothing had had the chance to move in our hope for direction, just yet. The officer had been contacted in regards to the incident, though, and had said that the photos we’d taken would be sufficient proof, when they did make their move....

Sr. Yee had also checked Loreto records in regards to a well permit, and had found nothing. Here we were dealing with another federal agency, which had another office in Cd. Constitucion, at which he still wanted to check. The chances of Saul having said permit were estimated to be exceedingly slim.

The “stop” order that we’d asked he seek in the Municipal Palace, supposedly, was in the works.

Tony had been tied up working in some capacity with the election commission. This, admittedly, had consumed much of his time, but as of that afternoon he would be liberated from this conflicting chore. PAN, by the way, for the office of Presidente de Municipal, squeaked out a victory against a very intense PRD-PT effort. PRI which held the Municipal Palace, is suffering an image problem. It ran a poor third. And as yet we don’t know what this shift will do for us and our cause here. But with certainty, we know that it will have an effect.

The attack was moving forward, we’d have to be happy leaving Loreto that day with only that. Off to Cd. Constitucion to talk to partner Ernesto we sped.

Arriving at Ernesto’s casa close to the end of his siesta time, it was after 4:30, we still managed a noisy entrance that startled him from deep sleep. We apologized but he admitted it was time he got up and moving again anyway.

I hadn’t planned on bothering him at all about small things but I need the services of a doctor who could give me a shot of cortisone to try and kill pain of pinched sciatic nerve. The doctors I knew were no longer in business. “Yes,” he admitted, that was a problem. Most of his doctor friends had had to leave town. The crush of a collapsing economy. He estimated his own practice has being off two thirds. He did find me one who could do it.

During his telephone search and then waiting with us until the time of my evening appointment, we had time to discuss things going on in regards to our rancho objectives. He opinioned that we were in rather good shape with our case in front of the Tribunal Agraria. He told us that all the politician/bureaucratics attached to this mess were getting tired of dealing with it. He stated that, “Well...they’re waking up to the fact that Carrizalito was, after all, ours”. He was in a general up beat mood in regards to this thing.

During the night spent there at his casa, that shot seemed to have sunk in and was accomplishing pain’s diminution. I’d wanted to visit his orange ranch with him that next A.M. But I decided not to chance it. We polished off our town things that morning. And just as we’re about ready to head back to camp I had ta go back to check on something at his dental office.

Again Ernesto hit me with a statement about people involved in and around our rancho fight, wanting to settle the thing. This was coming to him from our LaPaz lawyer. He pressed me. “What can we offer?” he asked.

His reference to this the night before hadn’t sunk that far in. I hadn’t spent any thought time on such a thing, what so ever. “Oh, hell,” I flippantly replied, “Let’s go back to the Rancho 1,2, and 3 plan. Tell them a million dollars for all of Historic Carrizalito and including San Cosme.”

“Are you serious, David?”

“Are you willing to put some money in escrow?”

“Under the right conditions, yes. And one of my non-negotiable positions is that all parcel holders in that area must vacate before anything else moves forward.” That, of course, specifically meaning my buddy Saul.

“Yes,” Ernesto agreed, “Certainly.”

We left things lay right there. On way back to San Cosme I’d filled Marcia in. If that offer towards settlement was sincere, and especially if it really is PROCEDE’S intent not to issue legitimate parcels until “all” the fictitious ones are abandoned, what kind of squeeze could this all exert on that big, dumb and fat man? To say the least, I wasn’t unhappy about the movement of events at that moment...even though the eco destruction and well project proceeded apace.

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com