The Third Ingeniro

So, if I had to go through this, I’d make sure I was fired up, ready. I knew all the natural and historic reference points could be explained, visited, in a fashion that no sane human being with even minimal intelligence and weak eye sight could miscomprehend. I mean like Punta Carrizalito, Playa Carrizalito, Ojo de Agua de Carrizalito, El Arroyo Carrizalito, the two sets of ruins, the cemetery. Those proofs would be a snap!
Supporting documentation, too, I thought would be in order, especially if I got this guy alone, away from those of the ejido, to pass him copies. I dug through my seeming chaos- managed filing system. I found an extra copy of the numbered pages (106-107) that were part of the ejido’s official records book; the ones where they pledged to respect the historic limits of El Carrizalito; all the official seals and member’s signatures or thumb prints. Marcia, while she’d been going through our photo albums in search of “before Saul’s eco wrath” evidence, which she did find good shots of, found photos also of that document's signing event, with Cresencio, Chayo’s brother and the “now” ejido chief, with his hand held highly up in air. Him along with all the rest of Ôem in the school room up at San Jose de La Noria. Oh boy! Do I still remember the day.
If I did get a chance to pass papers, I wanted to make sure I hit from as many angles as possible. To the folder I was preparing I also added copies, in excellent Spanish, of some of the things I’ve written that will, some day, be splashed upon the Internet. I threw in copies of that “Open Letter to Sr. Chavez,” “El Ingeniro,” “Surprise!” I wanted to get it across ta this gentleman that there was this sort of attack under way.
This Ingeniro might show up in an impartial condition, but, believe me, even above ejido hoots and hollers, I didn’t see him walking away retaining that position.
Ug, though. The thought of having to deal, in any way, with those from the ejido. I was sure Cresencio would be there. I’ve developed such a rabid distaste for this character. Each of the last five or six contacts I’ve experienced with this duplicitous hombre has caused my opinion to ratchet numerous notches further down. Anyway, I'd try to make the best of it. Maybe, in their claiming black for white, I could flip their bullshit to my advantage.
As is my combat mode, I physic myself for this meeting. Round and round I thrash out strategy as I go through my A.M. exercises. I’ve made my mind up that I’m not going to push the clock. Me in state of high motivation, that’s how I come cruisin’ in at the restaurante San Cosme, about 11:45 yet that A.M.
I spent a pleasant few minutes in conversation with Guadalupe and Maria, get brought up to date on local events. For health reasons an old French man who’d been living down by Agua Verde was abandoning the area. Alejo had purchased his whole setup, clean, highly livable trailer, small boat and motor, a canoe, many yard utensils and tools, boxes of fishing equipment and multiple poles, etc., for the outrageously low price of $2,000. U.S. I knew the trailer had to still be in very good condition, deluxe.
Maria was all worried about all this stuff yet setting there in Agua Verde. That French man, with rapidly failing eye sight, had left to fly to the States that morning. The local people, all of them, would know he was gone. She opinioned that if they didn’t get there quickly, things would drift away. Anything that could be easily carried....
That trailer rested in a soft sandy spot. Their old red truck had zero chance of moving it. I knew immediately this would involve a bite on our pickup’s life span. Instinct. Before they asked I gallantly offered its services, just as long as someone else did the driving. The simple trip from our camp to San Cosme had sufficiently agitated that damn sciatic nerve.
Before we thoroughly talked this issue out we detected sound of carro coming down the steep drive into right there. Small, light blue pickup. Good tires, no dents. Mexican plates, too, so I safely deduced that this was that Ingeniro. Two guys in it, really. They stop right close to kitchen and the driver hollers out that they’re looking for San Cosme.
“Are you the Ingeniro?” I holler out of doorway as I make advance towards Ôem. “Si!” gets hollered back...and as I move up for introduction I recognize the one on passenger side as character who goes by name of Beltron. I’m mildly surprised, and shaking his hand we both admit that it’s been a long time. (I’ve written about Beltron before, most likely in Alejo’s backyard.)
Beltron is retired after a 30 year career within the Reforma Agraria: a long time bureaucrat. All the Delagados of that agency that we’d had to deal with, Cholet, Elijo Sotos Lopez, etc., he’d labored under as their 1st. secretary, ie., he was the one who ran the day to day working of the place; the one who definitely knew where all the bodies were buried...especially in regards to on-paper property movements.
Ernesto had told me he’d retired and gone into private consulting service. I was surprised that our LaPaz lawyer was using his services with our Carrizalito fight. It unnerved me somewhat at first, I’ll admit to that. We’d had our confrontations. Both Ernesto and I suspected him of “deep sixing” Ernesto’s “almost” getting the full Mexico City title for the rancho; this after Ernesto poured his energies and heart into months of travel and work. Work that was very well done but to no avail. I didn’t trust Beltron. Never had. But, Ernesto insisted that our LaPaz lawyer was happy with his services. Him servicing us once again, that’s something I don’t want, in the future, to have write about. All was all smiles between us right there in that driveway right then.
I’m just shaking the drivers hand and trying to explain my reason for being there when I hear a following vehicle pull down there towards us. Ug. I recognized it. Cresencio and some mope ridin’ shot gun. Before they close I get out that I’m to be their guide on the rancho, my two seated pickup, four wheel drive and air conditioning would be completely at their service. Cresencio pulls ta a stop just scant feet to the side of that Inginero’s pale blue carro. Through open window on side kicks side, he bursts a general greeting that blots out line I was set into spinning.
The Ingeniro, who d gotten out for handshake of our introduction, immediately walked over to shake with Cresencio, who, in a grinning slouch sat like his girth was glued into place. The exchange of hands was through open window. After this effusive greeting subsided Cresencio hollers out an, “Ola Dahveed.” He asks how I’m doin’?
“Fine. Very good for an old man,” I come back; me with my arms crossed, my legs spread and tensed with my hips slowly rotating. I had no smile on my face to mirror his. My tone could have been described as...cool, not quite icy. I gave no indication of the pain, just because of that short truck ride to there, that was screaming up and down my right leg. I did my best at acting semi lethal.
Cresencio’s got his still-grinning bulk moving by now. Outta his carro he started the reflex actions of a hand poked out towards me but my tone and manner stopped him in mid arm raising. Obvious to him was fact that my right arm wasn’t movin’. Slowly his arm fell to his side, just hung there.
He quickly diverted his attentions to this Inginero, who couldn’t have helped but catch this scene, him and the mope and Beltron who’d remained sitting in their arrival positions. A lengthy discussion gets underway then and I get the distinct impression that I’m being ignored, left out. This continued for a considerable time frame, me finally tiring of it. In less than what might be deemed locally as polite manner I set about reinjecting myself.
I reiterated my purpose there: I would be the guide, me knowing much more about El Carrizalito than those from the ejido. Much more! We could all go in my (Marcia’s, actually) pickup. We could all fit, Cresencio and the mope into the back, and there’d be no getting stuck. We couldn't....
I find myself obviously being told that my services weren’t needed. Wanted. Both the Ingeniro and Cresencio are giving me this indication. I’m stumped. I can see the little blue pickup could have problems negotiating several spots along the rancho road. Cresencio’s jeep Cherokee might have had working four wheel drive.
O.K.! If they didn’t want my service, so be it.
The thought of Cresencio even being on the rancho turned my stomach. The thought of him cruising around, snooping out the turn-off paths to the straw-bale casa and our place, didn’t set with me well at all. Me thinking that their plan was to drive over to the rancho separately, I put my foot down hard. “The Ingeniro can drive over in his truck,” I say, "but I won’t let you drive your carro over on Carrizalito."
I could almost see my words just hang there in front of their target, and then Slam! hit home.
“What? You’re not going to permit me to drive my carro in Carrizalito?” he somewhat stutters.
“That’s right. I’m not going to let you drive your carro on Carrizalito. You can ride with the Ingenrio...or you can ride with me. But I don’t want your carro on Carrizalito!” He knew I wasn’t kidding, but he was having a hard time grappling with the realization of what his ears were telling him. He started to fume, set into a broody stew.
Excited verbiage erupted then from this Ingeniro. Almost like he was trying to arbitrate the situation, in a fashion so rapid that he quickly lost me, engulfed me in swallowing sea of Spanish that I only grasped scant threads of (even though my comprehension level ain’t all that bad).
All right! So they didn’t need my assistance! They could go ahead and do it without me then! But there was one thing I wanted made absolutely clear! "The evidence supporting our side on the Carrizalito issue was irrefutable, clear as day and hard as rock! There was only one Punta Carrizalito! One Playa Carrizalito! One Ojo De Agua De Carrizalito! And if any of the elders up and down the coastline we're questioned they’d all point right to where our claimed Carrizalito was!" I shouted but loud and clear.
I went ranting on that even if we lost this fight at the state level, how we were going to take our case to Mexico City and how we were going to fight and fight and fight! for twenty more years if that was what this fight was going to take! I’m shaking my finger in Cresencio’s kisser by now and shake it extra hard while stating that I’m not going to let such bandits steal that rancho. I must have been making quite a first impression on this new Inginero.
Beltron, though...he still sat over in that small pickup, almost appearing to nod off. What the hell, he’d been exposed to my blusterings before. Maybe he was actually napping?
I resigned myself to what I percieved as the facts. The hell with them! They could do whatever they wanted. It was like this Ingeniro had arrived with mind already set. Nothing I could do about it. I walked back over to kitchen from which Guadalupe and Maria had been slyly monitoring most of what had gone on out there.
“Well, they don’t want me or my services,” in disgruntled fashion, I griped to those in there. I stated I was going back over to wait there on Playa Carrizalito. My thinking was that they’d have to show up there, and from there I’d again try and influence things. Guadalupe put her finger to her eye and then pointed to those out there.
“Si! I'll keep an eye on Ôem,” I assured her of that.
So leaving that Ingeniro and the ejido chief still seriously conversing, I pull away towards low-tide pass...work my way up rancho road till Playa Carrizalito. I park where I can’t miss their arrival. The sun is bright and warm. I go to close by palapa and get into its shade. My leg is killin’ me from that small amount of driving so I fall into limber up exercises, work my palms down Ôtill they’re flat on gravel floor. I tried patiently waiting...somethin' I'm not all that good at.
Gosh.... It dawns on me that I’m the only one there in the magnificence of that incredible space. A rarity now days. The light breeze off the sea is delightful, delicious. There’s just a light lapping of wave lets a ways off there at the shoreline. From five or six different species there came rather regular bird songs. An osprey was screaming up not so high above. So peaceful, this place that’s engulfed in all this turmoil. So deceptive the calm.
I kept straining my ears to try and detect approaching carros. I waited and waited until I started to feel I was waiting in vain. What were those guys trying to pull? I questioned self. Finally, not being able to take suspense longer, I reached decision that I’d better back track, find out what they were up to.
I hadn't gone far in that direction before I ran into Alejo and his son Justo, them walking, coming at me. Naturally I stopped, questioned what was up?
“Did you come for Marcia's pickup?” I queried, which I figured he had.
“Si,” he’d come for that, and to advice me what went on with El Ingeniro. And, too, with Cresencio. About some that had transpired, he was just as confused as I was. He asked me what had gone wrong with Cresencio, who’d left his place smoking hot, uttering things about how he was going to crush me. Too, he was bewildered by the Ingeniro’s statement to him that he accomplished all that he’d come for.
“Accomplished what?” I sorta exploded. I told of how I waited there on Playa Carrizalito, but that they’d never come onto the rancho. I admitted to having no good idea as to what was up either. I complained of what this Ingeniro’s visit was costing. I definitely felt cheated in the bargain. I filled them in fully on the Cresencio thing. In no way was I going to play a two-faced game. He was not my friend. I was not his. I was much more comfortable playing from that position. Alejo claimed he understood.
So I give him brief instructions for this shiny pickup he’d never experienced before. Wished them luck on their trailer retrieval venture. It was less than a ten minute walk back to camp from there.
“Where’s my truck?” Marcia asked. She wasn’t all that happy when I told her. To her
questioning as to what had gone down, I briefly gave her what I had. She was busy on computer, I really didn’t feel like going, right then, very deeply into it. Later. Martini time. That’s when she’d get a full off-load.
She wasn’t happy at all with my brief report. When I told her how I’d handled the ejido chief, she turned glum, told me that she thought I’d made a big mistake. She worried that I should call Ernesto. She pestered me in that direction until just before martini time when I finally conceded and made that contact.
Excluding my treatment of Cresencio (I’ll tell him but I just didn’t want to go into it on phone), I gave him results we’d gotten for our money. To my astonishment, he didn’t act surprised. He couldn’t shed light on what had happened but he definitely wasn’t surprised. When I told him that Beltron had been with the Ingeniro, this actually got received as something definitely favorable. “We’d just have to wait and see David,” that’s what he advised.
“You made a mistake with Cresencio,” numerous times Marcia's opinioned openly on this.
I didn't think so....

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com