Testin' 2 '01

Alejo'd been warned by past ejido chief, the now totally-out-of-our hair Francisco, not to station our trailer, which El Carrizalito. This after the recovery he'd made from that trounchin' I'd handed him up at ejido meetin' in San Jose...maybe like three seasons back. He'd lead that charge to have us booted off ejido land, which we'd occupied, with ejido permission, for many years.

We'd understood our shaky positioning, and, in fact, made provisions for camps evacuation...should tide turn against us. It did. Our junk got moved, our whole setup dismantled. All except for some plants and our seaside palapa, which now nature is takin' care of. It was shortly after this move that we'd learned of Francisco's run at our rancho. That's when his parcelization scam started ta hatch.

It wasn't for threat of this cocky, jumpin'-up-and-down little fella that we hadn't decided to finally move onto Carrizalito. No. We'd had a change of agenda. Shell business had parked us first at Gabriel's casa, in Cd. Constitucion. And after that La Casa Vieja had served well as relatively short-term camp. And then the next season we'd gotten here very late, me still quite laid up from a fall; me without sufficient excess energy ta contemplate such a move as that of gettin' our down-here trailer...over on the rancho. Not somethin' ta be taken lightly, I assure ya.

THE SALES FORCE

Anyway, this year we arrive prepared, me with sufficient reserve not only to accomplish this new-camp jazz, but yet enough ta fight the battles this might incur.

We're still in the preparatory stages for the move when the first trouble arrives. We've pulled our road trailer onto our old campsite for the five er six days we'll need ta bring things towards ready. It's late morning and we're both occupied right there when silver-gray, mid sized pickup pulls up and parks in entrance way to low-tide-only pass. As it'd passed by I'd looked out trailer door ta see two Mexes, one who's kisser I firmly recognized: Two-terms-back ejido chief, Candido Telamontes; Chayo, who works fer us, who's married to Alejo's daughter Maria, is one of his brothers. The younger driver I didn't peg.

I guess I'd been waitin' fer some ejido members to pick on. I didn't jump right to it but eventually I went out and started stickin' my nose inta what they were up to. They didn't see me comin' up behind 'em and Candido fairly jumped up off seat when I poked his shoulder through rolled down window, me askin' him, how the hell he was doin'?

Almost immediately he puts on his false face of friendship. Man, these Mexicans, they're so expert at this. Disarm ya, that's what the aim is. I was unfazed and immediately launched inta a laughing attack, me pin-pointin' some recent ejido problems that Chayo'd already clued me about.

"Too bad about somethin' like 50% of the ejido members not actually havin' good ejido title," I chided. "What a shame that all those from town, who'd bought other's rights, now find out that they can't legitimately be ejido members." Sr. Chavez and the Neanderthal-like school teacher Saul Trojllo in that assemblage. Of course, if they weren't, actually ejido members, either category, then they couldn't be legit parcel holders. This meanin' that any who'd transacted business with these, in regards ta said parcels, now had even greater problems. Yuk yuk yuk. I'm enjoyin' the rubbin'-in of these problems.

The mask is down and Candido just sets slumped there, him admittin' that, "Si," the ejido had its problems.

`What a great idea! This parcelization thing,' I rag on. Me laughin' out nasty slams at Francisco and his great plano. The kid in the drivers seat just sorta hung there in glum silence. I wished 'em good luck as I turned and laughed my way back ta what ever I'd been previously doin'.

Chayo'd also told me that his brother had, just days before, been busted for the sale of 15 kilos of cocaine. I'd thought he'd said his brother Cresincio'd been one busted. Cresincio's the "now" ejido chief, and this I was thinkin' as absolutely too much good ejido news ta be true. It was days later that I found out it was this brother that I'd stood there gabbin' with that was one who'd been nabbed.

He'd been tortured, supposedly burned about the mid section with torch. And, accordin' ta Chayo, couldn't walk this day he'd shown there at our old camp. Supposedly he hadn't talked: $20,000. pesos is what it took to get back on street again. Chayo claimed guy who'd been supplyin' Candido was one who'd come up with majority of this tidy package. The system here has ingenious ways to profit off that "War on Drugs".

THE SUCKERS SHOW UP

Anyway, I'm back in trailer, I think I was writin', and in pulls this small and shined up little red pickup, it too with Mexican plates. A planned meetin', that's what this looks like. I didn't see this but Marcia says Candido produced a brief case from which he pulled papers that the four of 'em stood there lookin' at, this other pickup havin' arrived with what looked ta be husband and wife team. Then shortly the silver-gray job gets moved out of road way, the two who'd arrived in it jumpin' in box of shiny red one...and around corner, cross low-tide-only pass they go.

"Parcel business," that's what we jointly came up with. Chayo'd told us that almost all the desirable parcels had, by then, changed owners, some bein' third hand already. Almost every parcel that they surveyed into our rancho had moved quickly, and, considerin' circumstances, at pretty strong levels: Most in the ten ta $15,000. dollar range. Us who are in possession of the rancho, us who are not about to relinquish that - what could we do but laugh....?

My afternoon plan was to drive over to rancho with shovel, pick, double bladed ax and branch lopers. That roadway was in fair condition but during inspection tour the day before I'd seen things I wanted improved for our big movement, which was ta be the next day. "What are you going to do if you find that they've driven onto Carrizalito?" Marcia asked as I'm leavin'.

AN OPEN GATE

We both knew that the chain was down at the gate; had been down for a while 'cause of lackadaisical attitude of both campers and those connected with San Cosme. There'd been no gate crashers, so, why bother? We were of same mood and, in fact, had left the chain where it'd laid the day before. ''Their tire tracks will tell the story!" is what I shout as I go pullin' off.

Snippin' branches, fillin' a few bad spots, hackin' down a couple big limbs...I work my way to the gate, past which and irrespective of signs that clearly spell out situation that existed right there, that little red pickup's tracks rolled on. "Ok," I'm thinkin', "this road is mostly one pickup wide, and there's no way they're gonna pass back without makin' contact with me." Contact for which I was almost eager.

I work my way along and I'm almost ta turn off that heads ta our new camp, me nippin' away at thorny bushes on this tight curve, and here comes noises in advance of their exit. My truck squarely in road, I turn ta meet situation. They're movin' faster than I'd expected and before I can accomplish much the driver whips his small machine around and past me. But before I can holler ta halt, that's what he does right there back of my obstruction.

FOX WAS GONNA GET ME

Candido and this young guy are yet in the box from which they both utter less than enthusiastic greeting, "Ola Dahveed," in low tones, and not more. This driver is outta his door with a big smile on his kisser, him askin' me, what's goin' down?
"Can't you read?" I hit his smile with. "Don't you know that you're on private property?"

My manner, my gruffness, arrests him near completely. He struggles ta regain himself, him stammerin' out that he was only drivin' to and from his property, somethin' he indicated lay just over there aways, on a beach by name of Playa Malecon. Him, he's puffed up some again now, actin' like proud owner.

"This is Rancho Carrizalito. Any papers you have for anything on this rancho are no good. False!"

"Not my papers!!" he hotly comes back. "I've got good papers!"

"Let's see 'em!" I challenge. "I'll bet a lot of money they don't have the seals or signatures that they need ta be legitimate."

"Well, let's see your papers!" he hurls in counter attack.

"All our documents are in the office of my partner, Doctor Ernesto Gonzalez Morreno. Go check with him and I'm sure you'll find the truth." I'm pointin' right down at this straw cowboy hat. "This guy right here," I say. "Candido, he knows the whole truth ta this thing. If he says other, he's lyin'. He knows all the crooked things that the ejido, Francisco Savin, has tried ta pull here!" Candido and this kid, they couldn't a slid down deeper inta that truck box. Whipped dogs is how they hung their heads as I held ta my haranguing. The kid makes weak comment somethin' like, "Com'on, Dahveed, give us a break." (Later I would find out he was Francisco's son.)

That short driver gets back in his cab, him hollerin' out that I'd see just who was right on this thing; and that he was gonna talk directly ta his "amigo Fox!" Fox, of course, bein' the new Mexican presidente. I can see his wife jawin' like crazy ta him as they spin tires throwin' dirt back at me in partin'.
"Bueno!" I holler loud as I can as they're again movin'. "Hey! I'd like ta talk ta Fox about this problem, too!"

CHAYO'S ALMOST ALWAYS AT THE JUNCTION

Marcia and I laugh about this confrontation at martini time. She says she'd heard that driver say somethin' about goin' ta see the doctor when that foursome, back at our old camp, was separatin'. Chayo, who'd been gone and unaware of this entry, told me he'd heard his two brothers talkin' at his father's house in Cd. Constitucion. They'd discussed the sale of two parcels on Playa Malecon. Somehow they'd come into possession of these. This short fella musta been one of their suckers. Then Chayo'd been there too when word of confrontation reached Crecencio's, the ejido chief's, ears. "Steamin' hot!" that's condition Chayo claimed this had put his brother in.

Still not bein' able ta avoid right spot at right moment, Chayo was leaving our partner Ernesto's dental office just as that driver of red pickup was entering; he guessed ta have conversation with Ernesto. This guy came off cocky as hell, tellin' Chayo that he was gonna build several palapas on his parcel before week-of-Easter. Chayo said he didn't think so. This chaparito (that's what they call short guys here) got hotter than hell at this lack of cooperation: Like Chayo was a big traitor fer not goinÕ along with his brothers.

"Ernesto would straighten him out," this is what I give ta Chayo. I was glad that at least the fella was gonna get info that didn't come only from mouths of those in ejido, er some old gringo.(Subsequently I would find out that no conversation took place, Ernesto havin' been quite busy, the other not stickin' around for the chance.)

The chain goes up at the gate. It looked tightly locked, but indeed it wasn't. Though there were large padlocks at both gate posts, upon closer inspection ya could unwind a lot of excess chain till ya got ta locked loop which was loose and easily lifted up and off post. It looked good. For most I judged it'd be effective. And keys, they'd been
nothin' but a hassle.

FENCE WAR STARTS

We've made our move and fer some reason I'd had to drive over to San Cosme. Somethin' we'd forgot in that other trailer...I really can't remember. I'm just about to low-tide-only pass, comin' down slight rise towards it...and what the hell is this in the road?

From bush ta low bush, a rope is stretched across my way, and somebody'd cut down a lot of old man cactus arms which lay stacked across path. "Ha!" I laugh ta self I pull up to this, undo the rope, smash the cactus ta pulp where my wheels cross over. I already knew who the culprit most likely was.

I bump my way around pass, then on forward to restaurante where our road trailer lays parked. Martin and Chayo come outta Guadalupe's kitchen and advance on me as I'm goin' about what I'd come for. Martin can't wait ta tell me that I'd better watch out for "Trojillo," who was loco with desires ta cause me problems right then. Supposedly he was gonna file charges against me if I molested his fence. He'd just been there with his rantings but moments before my arrival he'd driven over to La Casa Vieja, where he was doin' somethin' with his boat. Martin tells me that I'd better clear out quick, if I didn't want confrontation.

Soul Trojllio is a school teacher from Cd. Insergentes who'd boughten into the ejido ta make killin' with Francisco. His wife had bought ejido membership, too. And somehow-he'd come up with a third parcel which is measured out right there where one comes back up onta high ground on other side of pass, where I found that silly attempt at a gate. According to Chayo he'd bought er traded fer this parcel expressly so he could fence it and keep the bad gringo "Dahveed" from reachin' his rancho. This was his big move.

I laugh out loud at this big clown's actions. "Don't laugh," Martin advised. "He's out to get you. He's serious. Means business." Maria and Estar were both there in kitchen. I'd ducked in ta grab a hot tortilla. Estar laughed out that both their hombres were afraid of this big gorilla. Marie smiled and indicated this as bein' true. "Bag of hot wind," that's how I describe the opposition. A blow hard who had very few ways ta get at me. I bid this foursome goodbye, went back around and took some delight in smashin' over these fresh cut cactus arms in different locations. Later we laughed more about this at martini time.

TROJILLO'S GONNA GET ME

Chayo, once more. The next day is Monday and he's there in Cd. Construciotn, at Ernesto's office again, when Trojillo comes in blowin' steam. He's loud, he's gruff, he's full of threats and insults that he hurls out at me, me who's not there. He's there in town to talk to authorities about my destruction of his fence. He's going to go to Immigrations and get me kicked outta country fer writin' bad things about Mexicans. (Specifically he was referrin' to my first lesson to Sr. Ereberto Chavez, that newspaper reporter that I'd center focused in my attack with my web site. I'd given Martin my card with my www.dondavidonbaja.com address, specifically to be forwarded to this not-too-smart maestro: I was hopin' fer
reaction. Naturally I was delighted ta hear all of this.

Ernesto was quick on his feet here. He sensed that Trojillo would go to the power structure there in Constitucion, the capital of the municipal district of Comondu. Ejido San Jose de La Noria had been split with the formation of the Loreto municipal district... approximately six years ago. While San Jose de La Noria lays in Comondu, where the ejido had some clout in the municipal palace, our rancho, everything along the Agua Verde Road, lays in Loreto. The ejido, many of its members, were hardly known in this municipality. Chayo was sent, lickety-split, to Loreto with complaint that Trojillo was trying to block an historic roadway.

EL JEFE

The chief of police for this municipal district is considered an ally. Raphiel Quijano. He's a Quijano of the Quijanos that have been battlin' same ejido, for almost thirty years, over their Rancho Palo Blanco. He's also Chayo's cousin, and they seem on very good terms. I happened to have gone with Chayo to his office on a completely unrelated matter, about two weeks before this. Raphiel, who I've had some ups and downs with, this when I'd been tryin' to pull together that "Ring of Fire" project, grabbed my hand upon seein' me, and while givin' it a good shake stated that he had copy of my 1st lesson ta Sr. Chavez, and that he'd agreed completely with what I'd written: This in regards to that crooked Plano Definativo fer that ejido.

Well in advance of our reentry down here I'd sent copies of the "in Spanish" version to the Presidente Municipal de Loreto, the State Governor, the Delagados of the Reforma Agraria and Procurador Agraria, and to Sr. Chavez, too. Along with the editor of paper he writes for, El SudCalifornio. I'd explained that I didn't want this fight, but if situation continued ta deteriorate, I'd start up my web site campaign. I knew that copies of this 1st lesson would get made, passed around. And here was Raphial confirmin' that my strategy was havin' desired effect.

Chayo is also well connected within the municipal palace of Loreto, he's good friends with the first secretary to the presidente. With this complaint of blocked roadway, he'd gone to Raphial, then to el palacio. In both places he'd been told that, without a scintilla of doubt, nobody can fence off a historic roadway. And, that yes, because the rancho road ends within the rancho, never has gone any further, we could fence it off, put up a locked chain. I'd told Chayo this, so had Ernesto. He came back so happy after gettin' such assurances of the legality of our acts, and the illegality of those of the big and dumb teacher's. "If Trojillo acted thusly again, he'll go to jail," Chayo said with big smile on his face. Chayo was diggin' this fight.

RETURN TO SUCKERS

Just days later, us workin' around camp here on our various little projects, the sound of carro comin' toward our back-in-the-bushes camp: A small black and sorta Bronco lookin' machine pulls inta view, stops and quick turns back way it'd come from. We'd already had confused campers follow our tire tracks. I'd taken ta placin' several long and bushy Una de Gato branches over obvious trail, sorta as a hint most would catch. This little black job was loaded with people. Things did not add up ta confused campers....

It's not long before I can clearly hear the delightful screams of young ones at play comin' to us from direction of Playa Malecon. Believe me, I like the sound of kids havin' fun on the beach. But somethin' told me that there was more ta what I'd seen and heard than simply a family picnic. Tellin' Marcia I'm headed over and check situation out, I cut cross desert that separates me from what's up ahead.

To camp, to enjoy the beach, the rancho is open to everyone. People need to ask permission at the Restaurante San Cosme, get a key. We ask that they follow some basic, good sense rules. One of these is that they not camp in anything but a designated, "obviously camped at before" area. As I closed on location where laughter had been regularly emitting from, I find tracks of that black carro which go past the two campsites on that beach...and which then veer off across roadless, fragile, desert eco system. "This!" another No No on the rancho.

It's only when I'm upon my objective that I see the Mexican plates. There was a large white $ for sale mark on the rear window and I found evidence that it was most likely from Cd. Constitucion. A rise separated me from water's edge so I walked on till I could see over it. Stretched out along the beach I counted six er seven individuals. The closest one to me was a mid age senora...so I worked my way down ta where I could meet her.

THEY'D RUN THE GATE

I'm cordial in my greeting. "Si!" it was a very fine afternoon, she had ta agree with me. I introduced myself, David Smith. I politely asked if they were friends of Alejo's. She told me they weren't. "Did you get the key from the Restaurante San Cosme?" I followed up with.

"No!" They hadn't needed a key. They'd just unraveled and lifted chain up over post.

"Did you ask permission of anyone before entering?" I still was keepin' my cool, controllin' my voice.

"No!" She goes on ta inform me that they didn't need to ask anyone. They were Mexicans! We were in Mexico! They knew the law and we could not block the road that lead to their property! Right there! Right on that beach!

I'm aware of my voice change, some heatin' up of my ears. I start to explain that they were on Rancho Carrizalito, which was private property. Another woman had come up on my blind side, her entering inta conversation, her firmly plantin' her feet down on land that she also claimed. Like maybe a whole family had chipped in on this. I'm bein' drawn deeper inta verbal confrontation when that short driver of that little red pickup pops out from somewhere and gets right there in my face, him with big smile on his kisser, him puttin' on false face-of-good-buddy.

I'm surprised it's him 'cause I thought he'd talked to Ernesto, gotten informed. "Didn't you ask Ernesto about this," I sorta stutter out.

"No!" He hadn't. He hadn't felt the need that great. He knew what he was doin; what kinda rights and papers he held. He's in excellent shape, and if smaller, a whole lot younger than me. I was surprised ta see how quickly his cocky attitude had pushed me ta sizin' him up, me clenchin' my fist. I recognized the danger of situation deterioratin' further. Rather than stand and be insulted by these people, I stated I was going to take action! I spun around and made exit, them laughin' and hurlin' insults at my back. Tromping back past black carro I memorized its plate numbers.

I'D GET HIM

I'm on straight charge back ta camp when Chayo intersects my path, him on fast mule's back. He's come to tell me about them; come ta warn me. He'd had a confrontation with them while they were yet in San Cosme. He'd told them that they should not enter Carrizalito, but had been laughed at fer his efforts. Nothin' he said could dissuade them.

He could tell I was steamin'. He asked what I was going ta do, but, in truth, I hadn't made my mind up on that yet. He rode off towards that beach, statin' that he was yet goin' ta try ta talk sense ta these outsiders. I continued my long, pounding strides that carried ta camp.

Right off Marcia detects that I'm pissed. "Don't do anything rash!" is advice she first tries on me. She wants me ta wait till I can contact Ernesto, and then the authorities. Wait, shit! I wanted a piece of these bad actors - and I wanted it then! She's still tellin' me ta calm down as I'm jumpin' inta my truck, firin' up its diesel engine. "What are you doing?" she demands in her growin' anger with me. "They might'a gotten in that gate," I shout, "but they ain't gettin' out!"

"David, don't you...." Her voice fades away as I move through yard gate I'd already opened on my stomp back ta camp.

GAME OF INCHES

I rumble over ta that other gate, its chain layin' limp on the ground. I stop truck in gateway, kill the engine, get out and check distance between front bumper and gate post. Too far apart, that's my first reckoning. I get back in and start up and move forward another ten inches, maybe a foot. Satisfied with my trap I roll up windows, take keys from ignition, lock the doors. There.... That provided some minor relief. Stuffin' keys in pocket I set out back ta what I expected might be the hostel environs of my own camp. I'm not in hurry. I'd take my sweet time gettin' back there. Maybe she'd settled some.

I'm almost home, on the well worn trail that runs from site of Chayo and Maria's new casa construction...ta our place. They're building a straw bale house with idea of them bein' full time guards of rancho, our camp. Here comes Chayo hurriedly ridin' back towards me.

First thing he says was that they were crazy, extremely rude and crud. They'd called him names. Laughed at him for not being on the side of his brothers, the right side. They'd belittled him for the work-a-day clothing he wore, this really upsettin' him. "Lower than shit! Worse than shit!" this is what they'd hurled at his back. As he's givin' me this we both hear the sounds of that black carro's leavin'.

They're not going far,'' in sinister satisfaction I assure my amigo. I tell him of the trap, how I'd rigged it. A smile finally comes across his very likable, handsome face. He spurs his mount, anxious ta meet this assemblage again. Tromp Tromp Tromp...I'm back ta hot spot in desert.

It's just martini time, Marcia's in process of puttin' ingredients together, but doin' it in a slam-bang, rather than nice-and-easy fashion. She fixed mine for me but made it plain that she'd just as soon I had it in some other space than she sipped hers at. Conversation level was held to absolute bare minimum.

A price I'd have ta pay. The cost of sweet revenge that I anticipated. The way I saw things, they had but few options. They'd either have ta come ta our camp, hat in hand, beggin' fer mercy...er they'd have ta walk ta San Cosme, then try ta figure from there. Oh how delicious the sound of that carro comin' back inta my space would be. Bein' city folks, I didn't think they'd pick the second option.

SWEET REVENGE EVAPORATES

Chayo's back. He rides lathered animal right up ta walk-through gate. I'm expectin' a plea fer mercy delivered through him. "What's happenin'?" I holler as I approach rider and mount.
With a wave of his arm in out-bound direction, he states that they'd left.

"They left!?" I shout. "How in the hell could that be!?"
He shows me with his hands how they'd gone around the passenger side of my pickup, comin' at it on an extreme angle that had allowed them to just squeak by. They'd had ta run down a thick stand of old man cactus, garambullo, to accomplish this, but they'd done it.

Damn! Double damn. Ya can imagine what this did ta my designs of slow and twistin' torture....

Marcia is relieved by news. She suggest we try ta call Ernesto, advice him as to what's happened. I acquiesce, but grudgingly; me feelin' I've been like robbed of somethin'. Up the close-by hill we three climb...ta see if we can make the contact.

No luck. We strike out completely. We hadn't had our cell phone service switched on fer more than a handful of days. There'd been changes in the system since the past season. The most we got was female voice in Spanish, this tellin' us we'd not succeeded in what we're tryin'. I ask Chayo if he can drive to Loreto. Better him than me, that's what I was thinkin'.

He couldn't. Carro problems. His front end, includin' the steerin' mechanism, was so loose, so shot, that he'd lost steering just the day before...while comin' down the steep grade on the Agua Verde road. By a hair he'd missed goin' over the edge in the very worst spot.

"Tomorrow then!" I snap. The two of us would head inta town ta report this the very next day.

"Tomorrow is Sunday, Dahveed," he comes back.

Shit. OK...then we'd go first thing Monday.

"Si!" He'd go along with that.

HAPPY HOLIDAY

So in good order we find ourselves in Loreto, Monday, maybe 9:30 AM. Marcia'd stayed back in camp. First business of mornin' is breakfast. Cafe Ole. Cheapest joint in town ta get a good plateful. Local gringo hang out bein' its only drawback. Looks like same crowd, almost every time. Lots of gringo bullshitters. In conversation ya can't help but overhear, seems like they set there and jaw about the most assine things.

Anyway, we finish this, then head off ta police station for municipality. Rahfeil Quijano, Chayo's first cousin on his mother's side, the chief who likes so much my first lesson ta Sr. Eriberto Chavez. He'd told us ta come and see him if we had problems. Payo, that's his nickname.

When we get ta station is when we first learn that we're dealin' with a "day of fiesta," a legal holiday: Feb. 5th, Dia de la Constitucion. Payo's not in. Him with the rest of local dignitaries are engaged in ceremony at the municipal palace. Nobody at the station had a clue as ta when he'd be back....

The plan had been ta get in there, get our shit done, and quickly head back. There we are then with this big block of time on our hands.

OK. There were other's there that I wanted ta touch bases with in Loreto. Efren, who I was strugglin' ta get activated, get movin' on my plan ta set up shell factory. A visit ta his place is always worth a good laugh. Geezous...the problems of tryin' ta get anything accomplished, anything requiring rather ordinary parts, components, in this po-dunk tourist town. A whole 'nother story in itself....

We sip coffee there, hear his latest lamentations about start up problems. I talk him inta goin' over ta my local business advisor's office; Efren's still skeptical, confused by what I'm tryin' ta pull off.

OUR ADVISOR

Roberto, that's my advisor's name. A good lookin', medium build, in shape lookin' fella. He's quick, smart, knows the ins and outs of what's shakin' down in this village, Mexico in general. He helps lots of gringos with their paper problems. Chayo, Efren, Roberto and me...we have good, long talk. It get's mentioned that we're waitin' ta talk ta Payo, but have run inta fiesta day problems. Roberto doesn't take most fiesta days off. "Did you know tomorrow is Saint Martes?" he jokes. That went by me at first...then I got it: Mexico.

We check back at police station three er four times before we finally, 3:30 PM, spot Chayo's cousin as we come pullin' up. He's walkin' from his office ta the central office when he sees us, gives us that just-a-short-span-of time sign, as he walks inta that other space. And ta my surprise, that's all it was, too.

Payo is a big hombre. He stands six one er two, weighs in at a hundred and twenty kilos, perhaps more. He's been in one facet of law enforcement er another for as long as I've known him, maybe 15 years. His physique speaks of his almost desk-bound status, but not all that much. His hair is dark and closely cut, there's a neat mustache. He smiles easily but has capacity ta come on rough and tough. Just a little bit, I sense he's nervous with our, my, presence.

Alone with him in his office he listens to our complaints. HeÕs particularly disturbed with Chayo's story of the abusive language that he'd been pelted with. "You can file a complaint," Payo says, "that's against the law and you can have them arrested for it." Chayo wasn't about ta get inta that...not quite yet.

As far as the gate crashin' event, the fact that they'd run down vegetation in their escape, Ernesto would have to file the complaint (a "demanda" is what it's called here). Payo was aware that, for legal reason, Carrizalito was in Ernesto's name. Chayo and me, we couldn't do this on our own. All along, I'd had very few illusions about this.

OK. Ernesto would make contact with him. That's how this was left for the moment.

TROJILLO TRIES TO CONCOCT BREW

Payo tells us that Soul Trojillo, along with Chayo's brother Cresencio, the ejdo chief, had been to see him in regards to Trojillo's molested fence. He and other local officials had pow-wowed over this, them decidin' no action was warranted against this agin' gringo. The chief there gives me the general office number of the station, his office number and then his cell phone. Ernesto could reach him if he wished, he'd be glad to cooperate.

Good information. The enemy had attacked and their efforts had fallen flat. I was content with this as we pull outta station's parkin' lot. I'd get hold of Ernesto.

We've finished in town, we're just waitin' fer a "pollo in minutes" place ta fill order fer whole one ta go. The smell of grilled chicken had thrown our hunger over the edge. During the near half hour wait fer this "chicken in minutes," I call Ernesto from cell phone, which we'd figured out how ta work. I get his cell phone, him in the act of throwin' some kinda party fer bunch of his karate students; sounded like young girls.

ERNESTO COOLS COCKY DRIVER

I started on my explanation of latest event, but he'd already heard. That short and cocky driver of that red pickup, after complainin' again to the ejido chief, him and the other adults who'd crashed gate, had showed there at his casa; them all mad and flustered. Ernesto knew them all, they'd been sorta friends. But Ernesto'd quickly told 'em that in regard to the rancho, he was not going to treat them as anything but the enemy. He told them that they'd been screwed, plain and simple. He told them that their problem was with the ejido and not with us. And he'd told 'em that this time he would not push a 'demanda' against them (something they had great fears of)...but, if they acted thusly again....

Ernesto thought that, at least with these people, our problems would diminish. I was glad, relieved ta get this news. Chayo, I could tell, was slightly disappointed by this. He'd been hopin' fer a better piece of 'em, as ya might well imagine.

The dust settles fer a while, life on the rancho taken on sorta nice-and-easy rhythm. The shell jewelry lessons we're givin' ta Maria and Chayo progress satisfactorily, so does the work on their new straw bale casa. This fight slides into background static.

RADIO ATTACK

Chayo and me. It's a Friday and we're in Cd. Constitucion, shoppin', mainly fer things ta further his construction. He'd asked to stop at his parents house in town there. They'd moved from San Jose de La Noria to this city due ta health problems, them gettin' up in age. His father had suffered stroke six months before but had seemed near completely recovered. At the biggest rooster fight of the season, an all Baja championship, he'd stayed for every event, bettin' on lots of roosters. Drinkin' enough and chain smokin' pack after pack of Mexican unfiltered cigarros. Immediately afterwards a new stroke struck him down, leavin' him paralyzed on his right side, unable ta talk er remain cognizant. Chayo wanted ta check on his condition.

I come back ta pick him up after a visit ta Ernesto at his dental office. His expression is one of great concern as he jumps back in pickup's cab. "They're sayin' all sorts of bad things about you on the radio," he hits me with right off.
"What kinda of bad things?"

He hadn't heard but his sisters had told him. This didn't surprise me that much. Ernesto'd just told me that a delegation comprised of angry parcel holders, Soul Trojillo and Crecencio the ejido chief among 'em, had been ta LaPaz, had talked bad about me ta the heads of the Reforma Agraria and the Procuradoria Agraria, had even been to the governorÕs office. They'd gone as far with their slander as to claim we were somehow involved in the traffickin' of drugs.

"Be careful David," he'd advised. "Do you have some one to help you in Loreto? Maybe you need another lawyer there."

I'd already anticipated this, had been workin' in that direction. I knew that Ernesto wouldn't go to Loreto if we needed to file a complaint. He'd already told me he was far too busy and that he'd just turn it over to our lawyer in LaPaz, who would charge me an arm and a leg if he had to take a day and travel to this municipal capital. I already had my advisor Roberto, mister fix it, takin' this in hand.

Yeah. I'd be careful. That's what I'd promised him.

We're at the lumber company, us purchasing some rather rough cut lumber. Damn. The price of boards here is enough ta chock ya up. I'm sorta known around town and this like-shop-foreman guy asks Chayo if I'm the bad gringo the local station was broadcastin' about. Chayo relays this ta me right there in front of this jovial fella, who looks at me and whistles at how black they've painted the picture.

I laugh if off. Both of us give him a short explanation, but...I can feel that he's not 100% sold on my plea of innocence. When we'd asked just what had been said all he did was shake his head and state it as, "really bad!"

The big part of that day's mission was ta load fifty big bales of oat straw on truck just outside of Cd. Insurgentes, this on our way back. The rancher who's made deal with us is in mid siesta upon our arrival. His mother gives us the OK ta go ahead and start loadin'. We do that and it's not long before we're joined by hired hand, help we can certainly use, 'cause Chayo'd hurt his lower back movin' a big rock, and, let's face it, I'm past 60 and maybe not quite as strong as when I threw bales as kid. We're maybe half way loaded when owner of straw, his shined up late-model pickup shows up.

WAS I THE BIG BAD GRINGO

He's a big guy, early forties, with a big paunch that's been filled innumerous times with flour tortillas. He drives a fancy pickup and carries the airs of bein' relatively prosperous. I stray from the labor force ta go over and shake his big paw, which completely engulfs mine in powerful grip. Was I the, "Dahveed Esmith," that all the flap on radio was about, he jabs me right off with this.

"Si! I'm the devil of Carrizalito," I laugh back in answer. He's no big fan of "any" ejido, he lets me know quickly. Impossible to deal with, that's his claim. Roughly I sketch out the problem. He doesn't have any difficulty in believin' me. Most of the rest of the population simply has nothing nice ta say about ejidos, their members...this I know I've got goin' with me. I'm not overly worried about this new slant of the opposition's attack.

Next day, at Guadalupe's kitchen, I get word from her that news of this bad publicity had reached there, also. Manuel, Alejo's brother had stopped by and told her. Guadalupe listens to radio Loreto. This bad mouthin' had been broadcast from Radio Comondu, the municipal that Cd. Constitucion was capital of. "Every knock was a boost," that's how I answered Guadalupe's concerns. High visibility. The more eyes on this fight, the better. I'm not yet sure that she quite appreciates my strategy.

The weekend passes, and other than joke about this with Marcia at martini hour, I don't spend thought time with it. Monday, me checkin' up on straw bale construction project, Raul Quijano, our construction foreman, after me takin' a bunch of pictures, asks me if I was aware of way I'd been talked about. He's serious, seemingly worried for me.

I'd been delighted when Chayo'd told me that Raul wanted to work on this casa. Not only is he a good, honest worker that will give ya yer day's worth, he's somethin' of a perfectionist. Havin' him on job relieved me of all kinds of responsibilities. Him and his son-in-law.

I tell the serious Raul I'm not the least bit worried by all of this. The opposition had to resort to a multiplicity of provable falsehoods, which didn't stand a chance against our proofs, the truth. Because his family has long been locked in fight with same ejido also, he was quite aware of score.

EVENING GUESTS

That evening, we're just settlin' down around campfire at martini time, and we detect sound of vehicle movin' our way on rancho road. We speculate that maybe it's Alejo's red wreck. Then, thinkin' it too quiet, I'm guessin' that maybe some campers have found their way in. The noise gets closer...then I can tell it's made turn up our camp's drive. The dogs set ta barkin'. At a distance yet I finally see this white pickup workin' its way at us. "Looks official," I holler ta Marcia, who's already started ta take precautionary measure.

She remains pretty spooked by all this stuff. She's made flight plans. I'm quite serious. She's got this small pack filled with essentials. If things get tight she aims ta grab this, along with wad of cash, slip outta camp in opposite direction... disappear into desert. It's a good idea. Last time we'd been scooped up, they'd gotten both of us. It would be much easier to get the other out of trouble with one of us runnin' free. Three hombres settin' in cab of this official pickup was enough ta put her ready fer take off. Our dogs raisin' all kinds of hell, they stop at front drive-through gate. It's closed. It is a barrier. I head out toward this commotion.

Immigrations. I can tell this from a distance 'cause I recognize the driver. I holler that they can get out, come forward, but there's pointin' at the dogs which have them held in truck's cab. "Don't worry about 'em!" I holler, "they don't bite, much!"

I release tension and pop open post and barb wire obstacle, let it fall to ground. I come nearly to driver's door before he, quite timidly, cracks this open and moves foot... and
then leg outta protective cab. "Que paso, Dahveed?" he, in unhostle manner, comes on.

"What's my problem?" that's what I question right back, me understandin' that they, all three of 'em, wouldn't have made their way to right there...just on social call.

He sets inta ta tellin' me that there'd been complaints. In Loreto. Formal complaints against me in regards to rancho road's locked chain. They'd gotten key at restaurante.

I set up ta tellin' him what I'd learned about Mexican law. We had possession and the right to fence rancho off.

"Si!" he shoots back. "But the problem is that people can't get to their properties further up coastline." I feel us fallin' towards a much deeper explanation.

I unfold recent history, the ejido's illegal parcelization, the sales of worthless documents to unknowing others, how some parcels were by then third hand, the proud owners of worthless papers not havin' clue number one about what was truly shakin' down around there. I point out the fact that rancho road was roughed out by hand to`right there, El Carrizaltio, and how it had never gone further; the reason we "could" legally lock the gate.

By this time the other two have gotten outta their side and they've moved to point of conversation. One's a young kid I've never laid eyes on before; looked almost too young ta be thusly employed. The other I immediately recognize as Carlos, a former kayak guide, whoÕd passed through our old camp more times than either of us could possibly remember. I'd always had good conversations with him, good vibes. "Hey! Carlos! How the hell ya doin'?" I shake his mitt and hit him with somethin' close ta that.

Carlos knows all about the rancho, he's good friends with Alejo and family. Fer the head guy, that driver, he backs me up on all info I'd given this honcho. He's near flabbergasted by shit that I'm tellin' them; can hardly believe that such stuff was goin' on like that; way out there on periphery of the municipality of Loreto. 'iQue cabrones! Que bandidos!" this head guy comes out with.

CITATION TIME

This short version of unfoldin' events lasts a good 15...maybe twenty minutes (and all this time my martini's gettin' warmer). Finally, cuttin' ta the chase, this fella tells me he's sorry ta have ta bother me but he's got a citation ta serve, and he proceeds ta do this, in like four copies, which I have ta sign and date: The next day, 5 PM., I had ta be at Immigrations office in Loreto...ta officially answer these charges.

"You have to come," he made that point clear. Then he added, "But don't worry. Just come and defend yourself the way you just did, and all will be made right?" They were nervous about gettin' outta there. "Low tide only pass" was reason given. They didn't want to be trapped on this side.

Well, shit. As if with tryin' ta start Efren off in business, Maria and Chayo's straw bale house construction, I hadn't had ta pound up and down that torturous Agua Verde road way, way more times than I'd really wanted. We'd just gotten back from the last nerve-and-truck eatin' event, and there we had ta go on another. Me, anyway. Marcia's name wasn't on citation.

Marcia had not given away her whereabouts durin' this exchange. That head guy had even asked about her, and I'd just motioned with my head that she was back in recesses of camp there...somewhere. I rejoin her and my glass. I don't say much at first, don't have ta, 'cause I know she's been listenin'. "Good," I finally expound. What more could I ask for than the chance to get to elaborate about this fight, in local, official manner. The opportunity ta elavate this conflict, that's what had been handed me....

IMPORTANT DOCUMENT

Early next AM. I go through papers I'd thrown in cardboard box back in cabin in woods. I'd not done a good job in this last-minute packin'. I don't know what I'd been then thinkin' but it wasn't about this fight. I was slightly miffed at self fer this disorganization, the slothfulness, the neglect in my actions. That's me, though. And I don't stay all that miffed, all that long. Never do....

Luckily I find enough ta make my case, if not as solidly as I'd like to... as well as I could with what I've somewhere got.

One document I do find is a real gem. A forgotten gem, perhaps, but none the less, a gem. It's dated back in '94. It's the official minutes of an ejido meetin' that Ernesto and I had attended up at San Jose De La Noria. We'd gone through all the legal maneuvers to have El Carrizalito moved, on paper, back into its correct position. Eligio Soto Lopez, the Delagado of the Reforma Agraria at that time, and a LaPaz lawyer, Aldo, had worked the magic, split $10,000. U.S. between 'em. Engineers from this agency had come to the rancho and had done a completely new survey. The ejido chief at the time, Chayo's brother Crecencio Telamontes, same ejido chief who's moved back inta that position now, had signed off on this move. So had the next in command, Jose Telamontes. We'd gone before the assembled ejido with this move and after lengthy and heated discussion (Fish truck Vincente and Francisco Savin insisting that rancho's location stay where it was on that highly defective Plano Definativo. This against all evidence to the contrary), they'd voted unanimously in our favor. These minutes were written up in neatly printed Spanish. They were signed by representatives of both the CCI and CNC, which are two umbrella organizations that advise the ejido, ejidos everywhere. They were signed by all ejido officials present, the comisariado, the consejo de vigilancia, the tesorero, the secretario; and then on a second page by nearly all those members present (50 in total), and also thumb printed by two that could not sign their names. This was then officially sealed. This document plainly states that by unanimous vote they accepted this historic location of El Carrizaltio. (It doesn't say the cut down version that we'd moved back to correct location, it says the historic location, which now, of course, is very important to us in this battle.)

So I'm happy I've found this, along with various other proofs against my attackers.

RADIO LORETO

Marcia, Chayo and me, we're up and outta here by mid day, we make Loreto with hours ta spare. Somehow we'd have ta kill off some of this excess. Reinforcing rods for Chayo's straw bale casa, to be pounded down through different levels of bales; we go and purchase some of these. We head over ta Efren's, knowin' we can get coffee there, check on his snail-pace progress, we've got plenty of time fer this, too.

They've heard the radio barrage, him and his wife Cookie. They'd been worried that I was gonna get Immigration's boot, that maybe we weren't gonna be able ta further the unfolding of business-venture plans. Laughin' this off, we told 'em we didn't think we'd be leavin' soon. Next we went over to Roberto's, our local business advisor. I wanted his read on this thing.

Roberto wasn't in. His secretary said he'd be back shortly. We three wait outside his office in shade. We don't have ta wait long. Up pulls his shined up red window van. He jumps out smilin' from ear ta ear at sight of us. "Are you the famous David Smith that all this radio flap is all about?" he says jokingly. He knows I am.

I briefly explain situation, show him my summons. It didn't look all that serious ta him; especially with him now startin' ta grasp more of the story. He told me he could rush to my service if called, but he didn't think that I'd be needin' him. He knows everybody over in that office, knows how ta deal with 'em.

IMMIGRATIONS

I park outside Immigrations with a full ten minutes ta spare. Marcia doesn't want to hang with me there, her still thinkin' it wise ta keep her distance. Her and Chayo head off ta nearby restaurant, I head up ta door. Closed. Locked tight. No lights burnin' inside. I've got a book. I'd wait...and not be bored. Five o'clock slips by, then 5:15. Could there have been a mistake? Could those guys have forgotten all about me, this trifling matter?

Well it's not `much later when that same trio in same pickup does pull up, all of these neatly uniformed gents jauntily bailin' out of their rig, shoutin' friendly greetin's ta me soon as I'm spotted. We all shake hands and exchange small talk as door's unlocked and I'm invited in their den there with 'em.

It's just them, and me. I'm expectin' some higher up honcho. I question about this. "Oh. Yeah. Si!" There was someone else comin'. Somebody from Santa Rosilia. That driver guy looks at his watch. He's sure this other gent i'l be there shortly. I take this gem of a document that I was able ta find, show it to the boys there. The senior one just shakes his head. "What could be clearer than what was spelled out there?" that's what he asks these other two.

BIG HONCHO

About half hour slips past before I'm told one we're waitin' on has pulled up. Headlights are turned off on just arrived vehicle, a rather young and sorta bouncy fella gets out and struts his stuff through propped open door. It was hot, stuffy in there; slow motion ceiling fans not movin' much air. There's intros and handshake and I'm invited to an inner, smaller office space.

I take a seat opposed ta this gentleman across big, not-too-cluttered desk. Just briefly he wants ta hear from me so just briefly I sketch out my side of story. Sorta tunin' me out he falls inta readin' file that's been brought in by head of that threesome. "Are you uncomfortable in here?" the one delivering file asks. "Yes! Si!" No question in my mind that some fresh air was needed. He works at opening large street-facin' windows, struggling with this but eventually accomplishing his objective. Ahhh. Yes. Breathable air. The guy behind desk is still readin'.

When he finally looks up, he starts in tellin' me that I can't shut roads off in Mexico, which sets me inta explanation I'd given numerous times already. The head of that threesome jumps in before I can finish and explains ta this higher-up, in much better Spanish, just exactly what situation of ranch road was. This explanation seems ta suffice. I pick this time ta push my gem out in front of my questioner. He reads it over once, tappin' his pencil atop it constantly, then it's like he reads it again, looks it all over from all angles.

AGAIN I TELL MY STORY

Not one hundred percent sold he probes fer more, him askin' things that can't be answered so simply.

"OK," I say ta self, "The short version of the whole story, I guess I'll have ta give it."

And I do: The part about the original sale by Sr. Lorenzo Villalejo Fuerte, the two years plus we'd spent researchin' his ancient papers. Our shock ta find our purchase cut down and moved on Plano Definativo, the struggle to move things back, the numerous times the ejido had voted ta accept El Carrizaltio's location. The long period of good relations we'd had with ejido, until...Francisco Savin took over as ejido chief. The parcelization. The sales of those parcels to unsuspectin' others, etc. By time I'm finished he's settin' there with mouth half agape, perhaps wondering if he could believe all of this.

CHAYO THROUGH WINDOW

From outside Chayo has walked up to open window. He's been leanin' over the sill, a good deal of his mass hangin' there inside with us. He hadn't said anything yet, was just listening, the one I'm talkin' to seemin' unaware of his presence. I'm tellin' about parcel markers, the stamped metal plates that were fastened atop these small cement monuments. These were all counterfeit, I'd stated. "SEMERNAP'', the name of the governmental agency that was imprinted upon these, had never had a representative at the scene, nor had any other official agency.

This is where Chayo can't resist interjectin'. He comes on that he'd been on the work crew, and in fact had done some of that tin plate stampin'. He vouched that nobody official had shown in all the time he'd been workin' thusly. He also told of when this bogus survey crew reached the northern terminus of Ejido San Jose De La Noria, how they'd continued 17 more parcels into Ejido Santo Domingo. Chayo desperately needed work, was newly married to Marie, and really didn't know what was shakin' down in the area. I'd forgiven him for workin' fer that crew, the opposition. In fact I was delighted with the inside info he'd been able to provide me.

Not phased by fact that Chayo'd been hangin' through window like that, this highest official manages a laugh to himself, and then quickly renders his decision: Not guilty as charged! "This is not an Immigration's issue," he states, takin' himself and his agency off the hook. "This is a land dispute, something for the Procurador Agraria, or perhaps "INIJE"... but not us. He directs top guy from office there to type up my statement that would be attached to multi paged report that would be sent to LaPaz. The last thing he asks this other is, who was responsible for these complaints against me.

QUE PINCE CABRON

"Saul Trojillo." There was only one name, one person responsible for bad rap that had been hung upon me. "Que pince cabron!" is last this top one says.

Si! "Que pince cabron!" That's what the three regulars from that office there had ta say about Trojillo, too. As that office chief is writin' up my official statement on modern word- processor computer, that's what all these guys reuttered. They'd done a complete investigation. After serving me with papers they'd asked questions all the way to Puerto Agua Verde, got a stack of signed, written statements. Turns like it wasn't anything like that bad mouthin' I'd suffered (not that I'd suffered it). Almost everyone they'd encountered had nothin' but good things ta say about this long-time-here, old gringo; Marcia and me. The only ones that had done otherwise were those who's parcel plans I'd interrupted. They'd not gotten back to Loreto til past midnight. No pay fer overtime. These three migras knew the score.

AGAIN ROBERTO

Marcia has lost her fear of this event by now and has come into outer office with Chayo. Chayo is asked to witness this report, attest to its veracity. For lack of a second Mexican Marcia is asked to do same. She's just givin' her details when Roberto comes bouncin' through open door. Good. A second Mexican. Marcia's name is deleted on screen and Roberto's information is added.

Roberto asks how all went with guy in smaller office; his friend, actually.

"Fine," I says. "These guys here say I have absolutely no problems with Immigrations. They know that all the bad things said about me are lies."

Roberto wants ta check with the big man, just ta be sure. Without knockin' er announcin' his intent he just walks in there where conversation breaks out rapidly.
We're just finishin' off this official statement, me statin' fer the record that all I want ta do is live peacefully amidst the beauty of Mexico; continue the struggle to protect this grand stretch of coastline (quite a contradiction...if I do say so myself).

Roberto's back and he's got a strange look on his kisser. He wants ta huddle with me fer a minute.

THINGS LUCRATIVE

He starts by statin' that he wished he'd a looked at some of the things I'd freely given over to that top guy, me makin' my defense. All I'd done was hand over three ejido-originated documents that spelled out the closeness of our cooperation... before Francisco took over. Essentially these were stamped and signed letters givin' me authority to protect a huge stretch of coastline, for them. The intent was to attempt to collect camping fees from gringos who were utilizing ejido lands but paying nothing for the privilege. One of these papers mentions the authority to collect money. And accordin' ta Roberto this could be interpreted as doing something "lucrative," which was a real "no no," considerin' how I'd been papered.

I explain ta Roberto that there was nothing of a lucrative nature involved, me insisting when I'd made this agreement with ejido that they place two of their own between me and any possible touch of any and all money. That they did, votin' ta put Martin Gonzalez in that position in the San Cosme area and Isidoro Cota of Puerto Agua Verde for that more southern stretch. Never did I touch a peso.

"Well, that might be well and true," Roberto comes back. But without back up clarification, what was goin' in the official file was just that, and the guy inside had indicated he'd spotted it. "You don't ever bare your ass ta these guys," he whispers out in admonishment. He indicated that this chief was gonna give me a pass, this time. But he goes on ta tell me that it was a deportable offense, if he'd wanted ta push things. Roberto didn't like that in my Immigration's file, but, that's how things stood.

Carlos, the migra who'd been the kayak guide, upon hearin' of this problem of things "lucrativo," stated that he knew that I never touched the money, him knowin' about Martin. Maybe he'd be asked for official statement... sometime in the future.

I sign and sign and sign... my statement, its multiplicity of copies. I asked fer one for myself, for my personal file, and that driver migra is about to oblige when his supervisor walks out and squashes process. No copies. At least not until the folder in regards ta this had gotten to LaPaz. When that Loreto office got their copy back, well, then, maybe.

The driver guy tells me that there's this chance that Immigrations would make statement to radio station, somethin' that might clean my tarnished reputation. He didnÕt guarantee it, just said there was the possibility.

VISIBILITY RISES

So Saul's thrown his big punch, and weÕre walkin' away laughin' at what a fool he's made of himself. And we've got him ta thank fer boostin' the visibility of this fight considerably, especially there in the municipal capital of Loreto; with good side repercussions in state capital of LaPaz. What more could we have asked for? The three of us, we go off and eat a celebration supper.

It's about two weeks later, us on our way up the Agua Verde road, again with Chayo in tow. He's upset because Maria had had information about an ejido meeting, the day past, Sunday, and had not relayed this info to him in a timely fashion. He didn't get told until after the fact. Chayo, though not an ejdio member himself, has never been bared from these events. He's San Jose de La Noria, born and raised. His father had been the first ejido comisariado, a position he'd held for twenty years; this before the law was changed to limit the chief's terms ta three years; and at least three of his brothers are members.

Chayo is an absolute well-spring of vital information in regards to these juntas or assemblies. He understands the importance of this, even if Marie, completely, doesn't. She'd worried that if he went to Cd. Constitucion, the meeting site now instead of San Jose De La Noria, he might not make it back to go with us to get needed materials for their casa. We were still in process of loadin' my truck with straw bales. Almost last load... I think?

"It was a big mistake, what Maria did," I get out as we're bouncin' up grade and swingin' around steep drop-off, blind curve. "Si!" He knew it was. He wished it hadn't happened but it had. Now he'd have to locate some of his ejido-member friends, try ta get bits and pieces from them. As ya might imagine this ÒjuntaÓ he'd missed held my curiosity....

$ EJIDO MEMBERSHIPS GOIN' UP

He strikes out in town 'cause those he knew, trusted, hadn't heard of this meeting, like he, until it was over. Apparently, it had been hastily called. It wasn't until we were on our way back down the Agua Verde road, straw stacked wide and six bales high in bed of pickup, that he tells me that Martin had attended.

This stumps me at first...'cause Martin had just sold his ejido rights fer $100,000 pesos, more than ten grand. I couldn't figure why he'd felt the need ta go ta this assembly. "He wants to find out about the rest of his money," Chayo comes back.

"You mean he didn't get the full amount?"

"No." He'd gotten $20,000 pesos up front, the rest some time in the future.

"Is that how all those who have recently sold for that high price have been paid?"

"No!" Some of the ten er 12 who'd just gone fer same deal had gotten the total. A few. The rest had been handled like Martin. I was sure that with over eight grand still dangling out front of Martin...he was havin' hard time sleepin' at night.
(Subsequently I've been told that only Chayo's brother Candido was paid the full amount, and there's speculation as to the truth of this, Candido seemingly in on this latest wrinkle of unfolding scam.)

WHAT TO DO ABOUT STUBBORN GRINGO

Chayo was gonna try and pump Martin, which, by degrees, he'd managed. He came back to me with info that more complaints had been leveled against me, this with some LaPaz officials on hand that were writin' this shit down. Chayo was all worried that we were going to receive another Immigrations visit, er something. He insisted I clean up some of the shell related activities we had goin' on around our camp, like maybe they were gonna come in and bust us fer that.

I told him that I didn't think that was going to happen. I was of opinion that with Saul's thrust, they'd pretty much shot their load. A whole string of days slid by...and nothin' materialized.

Again, we're in pickup, goin' up this hill. "You mean they called that meeting just to attack me?" I said with degree of incredulity.

"Si!" He comes back. "Just you. Just to try and figure out what they were going to do about this one stubborn gringo."

The three of us laughed.

I said I felt complimented. Highly so! "What do you think they're going to accomplish?" I asked him.

"Nothing," he gave in smiling reply. They had very little force left, he was now pretty sure of this....

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com