Date: Wed, 19 Apr 2017 17:12:08 +0200
From: Nick Brady <y2kslacker@mail.com>
Subject: Mexico - Chapter 4.

MEXICO – Chapter 4.

After breakfast I drove around for some time. From the cafe I drove past
the store where we got groceries and ice, then past the school where Juan
was in class. The school was a low shabby structure with walls of pealing
stucco and a roof of corrugated sheet metal and a few windows. It had the
same look as a lot of the shacks that served as homes down here among the
working poor.

It only took a few minutes to look over the rest of the little
village. There was the store and cafe, a few small shops around the square,
and an old stone Catholic Church at the center. The road went out past the
school and west toward the countryside where local farmers dug out a modest
living. In about 30 minutes I was at the beach that Juan had shown me. I
pulled off the road and parked where I could look out at the water where we
had walked the sand. I needed to think some things through.

In the last few months I had moved down here and found myself in a
different world. Much of what I found here was what I had hoped to find, a
quiet rustic simplicity, a lovely countryside, low cost of living and
decent friendly people. I looked out over the moving water where gulls
skimmed for food and terns scurried around the water's edge. The sharp salt
smell of the sea blew in my face. For a boy growing up in Oklahoma, the
mountains and water of western Mexico were beautiful and exotic.

What I had not anticipated was the entrance of Juan Carlos in my life. The
boy I had expected to repair my garden and do errands for me, had turned
out to be more of a companion than I had ever imagined. Both innocent and
experienced far beyond his years, he desperately needed love, security, and
some hope for a future.

For my part, I realized that I was falling in love with this boy. I had
found intimate relationships with other boys to be very exciting for me
when I was young myself, although I had never found anyone that seemed
right as a partner. I had experienced the pleasure of sex with a number of
young guys while in high school and early college, and found it
exciting. If things had gone another way, I might have lived my life as a
homosexual.

After college I chose the road more traveled, married a nice girl and made
the best marriage I could. While we were happy together, there was always
something missing from the relationship. I was sobered to realize that Juan
was the thing that had been missing. Here was the loving relationship with
a young male that had been so thrilling and so right at that early time in
my life. I had forgotten how strong that part of me was, and how much I
missed it.

It did seem that this could be a good thing - a good thing for us
both. Certainly it was what Juan wanted, as this morning left no doubt. My
response was to offer little resistance, despite my
reservations. Conventional social values might condemn this arrangement,
but it seemed hurtful to neither of us. He needed love, stability, and
opportunity, and I needed a companion and a reason to be here. The man at
the restaurant was probably right. It was a good thing, at least for now.

Juan had been pushed into doing things that he could not understand. A boy
who needed the strong love of a good father had been used for the sexual
gratification of men whose only interest in him was their own
satisfaction. If they were nice about it, then to this boy it passed for
love. He had no other scale by which to measure such things. I was nice to
him and so he loved me for that. He demonstrated his love in the only way
he knew how. My conscience told me that knowing this, I should have refused
his advances, but I had been unable. Sex is powerful magic.

As he grew older and had the opportunity to live a more normal life, he
would find out what sexual orientation was really natural for him. Maybe he
was gay and would be comfortable with living as a gay man, but more
probably he would not. I choose not to follow that path and it would have
been easy for me to do so. At the time I decided that I was bisexual, and
that it didn't really matter. In fact, I think perhaps I was just unwilling
to take the heat of living my life as a gay man. It was easier to be in the
main stream. Time would tell what path Juan would choose, and if I was to
serve as his father, it would be my role to help him find out what would be
right and natural for him.

I considered what I should do now. I needed to find out a lot more about
what options the boy actually had. I had no understanding of how the school
system worked down here, and would need to figure that out quickly. Should
I talk to Maria and work out something with her? However informal her
relationship with the boy, for all practical purposes she was his
guardian. In spite of the fact that she primarily expected him to
supplement her income, she must have some genuine concern for him.

As a practical matter I needed to slow things down somewhat. No matter how
exciting, the sexual component of the relationship was troubling to
me. Juan was ready to move in for good, and there was a lot to be done if I
was to take responsibility for him. I needed information about schools,
about custody, and about how things worked down here. I had to find someone
here who understood the system.

For the time being I would keep Juan busy with chores at my house, but he
needed to stay with Maria until I got things worked out. It would hurtful
to let him move in now, just for him to have to move out later. I also felt
that I needed to avoid sexual intimacy with a boy so young. While the legal
age in Mexico was 12 in some places and 14 in others, a 16 year old was
much younger than myself, and I had serious misgivings about taking him as
a lover, even if this was what he clearly wanted. First things first.

The sky had darkened out over the ocean and the wind had picked up. A rain
was moving in. It would be good for the garden but not for the gardener. My
house needed a lot of work. I decided that a few gallons of paint and some
brushes would keep us busy for a little while.

I watched the gulls work the beach and rolled things around in my mind for
another hour, then started back to the house. I stopped off at the store
for a few supplies. The selection of paint was limited, but I picked out a
gallon of blue, another of yellow, a couple of white, and some paint
scrapers and wire brushes.

I bought some soda and fruit juice but left the beer alone. I wanted a
clear head and didn't need for Juan to see me tipsy again. The time with
Juan had improved my rudimentary Spanish so that I was able to negotiate my
business with the help of some pantomime and pointing. The shop keeper
recognized me by now, and he laughed in a good humored way as he filled my
order.

The little store was a combination gas station, grocery, variety store, and
gathering place.  Several men were sitting around a little table, one of
whom was the older man who had spoken to me in the restaurant that morning.

He smiled and nodded at me. "You are the boss man for Juan Carlos, eh?"

"Yes," I said, "He's a good helper." I extended my hand to this friendly
man. "Mi llamo es Robert Thompson," I tried out my limited Spanish.

The man stood, extended his hand and said, "I am Paulo Lopez. How are you,
Senor Thompson?"

"Fine, thank you," I said, grateful for his English. "You know Juan
Carlos?"

"This is a small place. I know most people here. Juan is a good boy."

I decided to trust Paulo. "Juan is working for me and I would like to help
him stay in school. I am new here and don't understand how things work. Who
can I talk to?"

"Maybe I can help a little," he said. "If I see you at the cafe tomorrow we
can talk."

We shook hands and he sat back down with his friends.

Back home, I put things away and picked up the house a little. Juan had
stacked his new clothes neatly on the side chair in the bedroom. His work
clothes and soccer shorts were folded on the floor next to the chair. He
was already moving in.

The rain I had smelled at the beach had blown in and was falling gently by
the time Maria came to fix supper. As soon as school was out Juan ran in
with his shirt pulled over his head to keep off the rain. Maria raised her
eyebrows when she saw his new clothes and said something to him in
Spanish. He looked a little embarrassed but smiled proudly, and I heard him
call my name. Maria frowned, but continued her work.

She gave Juan the list she had made and some verbal instructions. He looked
at me expectantly and I nodded for the door.

"So how was school?" I asked as we drove to the store.

"School is good, I think. I like school," he said, looking out the window.

"So what are you doing now in school?"

"Now? We study for the big test."

"What big test?"

"The test is for the next school. Is not important for me. I not go school
next year," he explained.

"I don't understand," I admitted.

Juan looked thoughtful as if trying to find the words to use. "I don't know
words for English. All go to primaria 6 years. If pass test, then can go to
secundaria 3 years more. I go now for 2 years, but no more. Maria say I
work, need more money."

"So after this year is that all there is?"

"No, if test is good, can go bachillerato, 3 more years. Study propadentica
for universitad, maybe terminal for good work, not all do the same." He was
trying to get the idea across.

"So if you go one more year then you could either prepare for university or
vocational training, is that right?" I repeated back to him.

"Yes!  University or Vo-tech," he looked pleased that I had understood. "I
forget the words."

"You did fine," I smiled at him. "Are you tired of school? Are you ready to
quit?"

He looked very serious. "No, I like school. School is very good, but I
cannot."

"Maybe I could talk to Maria about it, OK?"

Juan's eyes grew large and he smiled with surprise and excitement. "Really?
Oh yes, Papa. Yes! I like that very much."

"In that case, maybe you should study for that test," I advised.

We parked at the store and walked in together. The shop keeper looked with
approval at Juan in his new clothes. Juan smiled back at him and nodded
towards me with a pleased look. They worked on the list while I looked
around at the small inventory.

Juan had a pile of provisions on the counter and was looking at a display
of candy and packaged cookies.

"Which ones are best?" I asked.

When he pointed to several, I picked them up and put them on the
counter. "After supper," I said.

He picked up most of the heavy stuff, and I took the cookies in a bag. It
all went in the back of the truck and we jumped inside and started home.

After Maria put our supper on the table and left us alone, we ate, cleaned
up the dishes and sat for a talk. We ate a few cookies and made plans for
the week.

"While you were at school I bought some paint today," I told Juan

"I can help," he said. "I am a good painter."

"I am counting on you," I smiled.

We walked around the little house, inspecting the walls and ceilings to see
what needed to be repaired before we could apply paint. After the intensity
of the morning, I wished to keep the evening light, and I sent him away
earlier than usual. My brief conversation with Paulo had given me a lot to
think about.

I woke up about 8:00 the next morning and wondered what time Juan went to
school.  I got up, pulled on my clothes, and went into the kitchen. On the
stove was a fresh pot of coffee. Juan had slipped in, changed his clothes
and made me coffee before running to school. Paulo was right. He really was
a good boy.

When I walked into the little cafe for breakfast, only one man was at the
corner table and he raised his head in recognition as I approached.

"Buenos Dias, Paulo," I said and extended my hand.

"Bueno Dias, Senor Thompson," he replied, shaking my hand and pulling out a
chair for me.

The girl came over and took my order. At Paulo's suggestion I ordered a
pastry to go with my coffee. It turned out to be a long crisp roll filled
with fresh apples and cinnamon. I hoped all his advice would be this good.

"Why do you come to our little town?" he asked in a way that was curious
but not nosy.

I told him my story as briefly as possible. "I came to this area with my
wife many years ago on a holiday, and found it beautiful and
peaceful. After she died and I retired, I decided to try living here to
find some peace again."

"Where is your family?" he wondered.

"My parents are both gone. I have no brother, no sisters and no
children. There is only me."

Paulo looked a little surprised. "No children? You are so kind to Juan
Carlos. I think maybe you have children."

"No. No children. Well, maybe now," I smiled.

Paulo nodded. "So this is a good thing for both of you, eh?"

"Maybe so, at least I hope so. I appreciate your interest. Are you a friend
to Juan somehow, or to his family?" I asked.

"Here I know everyone, but no special thing for Juan. I know Maria of
course, and Victor...."  He frowned and gave a slight shrug.

He continued. "It can be hard here. You need family to help you. For a boy
with no family, it is a very hard thing. I was like Juan Carlos, I
think. As a boy, we had nothing, and I left my home when I am 14 to try and
find a better way. I go to Texas for work, and had many troubles. I come
back, go again, many times. It is a hard life. With no family, a boy must
do many things to stay alive. I know about this. I know for Juan is very
hard life.

"I never went to school very much. I learned to read and study by myself,
but not in school. Now I am an old man, with no money. Life is hard for me,
like everyone here," he smiled. "You can help Juan go to school?" he asked.

"I would like to, but I'm not sure how to go about it. He would like to go
on to school, but Maria wants him to work more. I think any money he earns
goes to her." I thought for a moment. "I'm not sure exactly how Victor fits
into this."

Paulo frowned and looked down at his coffee cup. "Victor is a
'businessman'," he said. "He buys and sells things. I don't like his
business. Juan don't like either, so he makes trouble for Victor."

"Can Victor keep Juan from going to school?" I asked.

Paulo made a little face and shrugged. "Victor just want money. If Juan
works for Victor, then Victor makes a lot of money, but Juan does not like
this kind of work so he comes home to Maria. Victor is angry, but Maria
says she will talk to police if he makes Juan do that work. Now Juan works
here for Maria, but cannot make much money. A little money, and Victor
don't care. He just want money."

"Are you suggesting that I can buy the boy?"

Paulo laughed. "No, not exactly. But I think maybe there is a way you can
be a papa for him. He has no father, no mother. Maria picked him up from
the street, so maybe he belongs to her. But she got no paper or
nothing. Maybe you can get some paper and be his father. He can go to
school, whatever you like."

"I wouldn't have a clue how to do something like that. Suppose I wanted to
do that? Where would I begin?"

Paulo looked at me. "What do you want to do Senor? If you want to be father
for this boy I will try to help you. If you don't want, then we can just
drink coffee."

"It is very kind of you to offer your help, but...." It was time to make a
decision.

Paulo pushed his coffee cup back and straightened up in his chair. "Is up
to you."

I sat and looked at this man. Waves of conflicting thoughts were washing
through my mind. I knew I should say that I would think about it, but also
knew that I had already made up my mind. A new path of possibility had
presented itself. All the doors were lined up and swinging open. I knew I
had to do this.

"I never had a son," I said simply. "Something about this boy pulls at my
heart. If you can help us I would appreciate it very much. I would like to
be his father."

Paulo laid his big hands face down on the table and smiled. He didn't say
anything more but raised his coffee cup and signaled to the waitress. We
sat for some time more and talked as friends. He explained the school
system to me. Public school for everyone through the 6th grade, then a test
to go on to the lower secondary school for 3 more years. The last 3 years
of upper secondary are either preparation for a university or a trade
school, or sometimes a combination of both.

If Juan could test well enough then he could go on to the upper
secondary. Because he was needy, the expense might be borne either by the
state or perhaps by the Catholic Church.

We talked about custody for Juan Carlos. I worried that Victor would make
trouble for us but Paulo waved that away. Victor's business with Juan was
bad business and against the law even in Mexico. Victor was not in the
position to make too much noise about his connection to Juan. Paulo said he
knew someone who could help me with the legal issues and that he would talk
to that man and get back to me.

We talked about soccer, and local teams that Juan could play with. Every
boy in Mexico wanted to be a professional player, but the chances that he
could play at that level were very slim. The sport should be played for its
own sake and the pleasure it brought to the boy. We should see that he had
that to offset his labor. We drank a lot of coffee and parted with a smile
and a handshake. It occurred to me that my life would never be the same
after this conversation.

I wanted to make my little house a proper place to raise a boy. When I got
home, I started making a list of the improvements that needed to be
made. There was some repair that was beyond my ability, but the greatest
shortcoming was with the primitive plumbing. By the time Maria arrived I
was inside studying the bathroom, probing around the tub and stool where
the wood was rotten in spots. This would be more of a job than I could
handle by myself.

By the time Juan arrived, Maria had her list for us and we drove to the
store for provisions. The list was not large this time. My larder was well
stocked and we only needed some fresh things for supper. We picked up some
patching plaster and paint scrapers to begin the preparation for
painting. Some bottles of fruit flavored Mexican soda and a can of peanuts
satisfied all our immediate needs.

When the meal was ready, I heard Maria and Juan quarreling about
something. I looked at Juan for an explanation.

"Maria say I cannot eat here every night. Not good. You not like."

Tell Maria that I enjoy your company and that you are welcome here any
time," I said sternly. "Besides, after supper. We need to get ready to
paint the house."

Juan relayed this to Maria and she set her mouth firmly, but said
nothing. After the meal was on the table she left.

"I didn't mean to make her angry," I said.

"It's OK Papa." He sat down at the table and looked at me with a sweet
face. "Thank you, Papa."

"De nada," I said with a smile. "How was school today? What did you learn?"

We had a nice meal, talking and joking as if we had been doing this
forever.

After the dishes were washed, we pushed the furniture away from the walls
and began to prepare the inside of the house. With the scrapers and wire
brush we started the laborious job of removing all the flaking paint from
the walls and ceilings and mending holes in the walls with patching
plaster. This would take the majority of the time and was rather
tiresome. I reminded Juan of the axiom that it took at least twice as long
to prepare for a paint job as it did to paint.

The preparation was too extensive to try and finish quickly, so after an
hour or so we talked, watched television, and played cards. I taught him
how to play 2-handed Gin Rummy and after a brief learning curve, he was
beating me regularly.

The week fell into a sort of routine. I ate breakfast with Paulo, and
learned more about the way things worked in this part of Mexico. During the
day, I did what house repairs were within my ability, then worked with Juan
Carlos after supper.

Paulo and I talked about a lot of things, and I found Paulo to be a very
intelligent and knowledgeable man. Although lacking in formal education, he
knew a lot about a lot of things.

Moreover, he was a good man. He had more than his share of hard times, but
was willing to help others through their rough spots. He seemed to have a
special concern for Juan, and I felt that something about the boy reminded
Paulo of himself at the same age. I suspected that he may have had a Victor
who used him once.

We also talked about the sorry state of my bathroom. Paulo was an
experienced handyman and assured me that he could patch the crumbling
plaster around the sink and tub, and improve on the primitive state of my
plumbing. We agreed that he would come out to look things over and tell me
what needed to be done.

During the week, Paulo came to the house and made a list of supplies
required to bring the bathroom up to snuff along with an estimate of the
cost of labor and materials. I could not imagine negotiating the purchase
of the materials with my spotty Spanish, so simply gave him the money up
front, and asked him to get what we needed. He looked a little surprised,
then shook my hand in a way that said he appreciated my trust. He would
start early the next week.

By Thursday evening Juan and I had everything ready and Juan was eager to
get down to the business of painting. We decided that we would paint the
living room yellow, the bedroom blue, and everything else white. After our
evening of work, I sent him back to Maria, planning to wait until the
weekend to start the actual painting.

Early Friday morning Juan tapped at my bedroom door holding a cup of coffee
in his hand. "Papa. Wake up please. We paint today."

I woke up in a confused state. "Is it Saturday already?"

"No school today. We can paint now."

I was suspicious that he was truant, but decided not to press the
subject. He looked very eager, and the coffee smelled good. Besides, I was
anxious to begin the transforming project of house painting. I took the
coffee and ambled into the kitchen to fix us some breakfast of rolls and
coffee.

We soon began our project. I used the roller on the ceiling and walls, and
Juan used a brush on the edges and the trim. He was a pretty good painter -
slow, but careful and neat. Since the preparation work had been thorough,
the actual painting went rather quickly.

By 9:00 in the evening, we had had painted the inside of the house,
scrubbed the floors and moved all the furniture back. The difference was
dramatic. What was dark and shabby was now bright, clean, and
attractive. We shared a real sense of accomplishment. Over the weekend we
should be able to take advantage of the fine weather that followed the rain
and scrape and paint the outside of the house, maybe even put a coat of
white on the rock wall that ran around the perimeter.

Weary from our long day of painting, I stretched out against one arm of the
sofa, and Juan laid down next to me with his head in my lap. I rubbed my
hand over his belly for a minute then he turned and faced me, pushing his
face against my stomach and hugging me close.

Juan looked at me with great earnestness. "I want to stay in your house
Papa. Not with Maria."

"I know Juan, but I'm not ready for that yet."

"You not want me to stay with you?"

I took a deep breath then let it out. "I do want you here actually. But I
need to work some things out first."

"I really want!" he repeated.

"If you live with me, you'll have to go to school for a long time. You'll
have to work very hard. Maybe you'll get tired of that."

"No, Papa. I never get tired. I really want school. I want to live with
you, Papa. I can work very hard, can do good in school," he paused. "Maybe
you get tired of Juan."

When he said this it dawned on me that his concern was genuine. Was I
prepared to make the kind of commitment that being a father to this boy
would require? Was this a short-term project or a long-term commitment?
Would there be a time when I grew tired of pretending to be his father? My
experience with my own father told me that once begun, this was a permanent
relationship. My heart told me that I was in this for the long haul.

"I don't know, Juan. This is all happening too fast. I don't want to mess
this up. I'm not going to get tired of you Juan. I care for you very much,
but I need a little time to work things out, OK?"

He sighed and nodded his head. "OK Papa. You are a smart man. You will do
the right thing, I think."

Now it was late and time for Juan to go back to Maria's. He looked very
disappointed.

"No school tomorrow Papa," he said wistfully.

"Maria will be expecting you," I argued.

"She not care," he said as if I should know that already. "I want to sleep
with Papa. You not like?"

I looked at the boy. He had removed his old shirt and pants and had been
painting in an old pair of boxer shorts that were too small for him. This
spared getting paint all over his clothes, but had not kept it off of his
body. His hands were covered with streaks of paint and the rest of him was
spattered with drops and drips. The white paint made his brown skin look
even darker. I had worn an old pair of khaki shorts, but was shirtless and
had almost as much paint on myself as Juan did. We both needed a bath no
matter where the kid ended up.

"Well, let's get cleaned up," was all I said.

Juan put the kettle on the stove and I pumped cold water for the tub. When
Juan added the water from the kettle it was warm enough to be pleasant. He
set the kettle down and we stood looking at the tub. We both dropped our
shorts and stepped into the tub at the same time. I had the sense that I
might be getting ready to cross a boundary, but reasoned that the water
would not stay warm for very long.

We sat down facing each other with Juan's legs inside my longer ones. The
warm water felt nice and we both leaned back. My back was a little sore
from all the bending and stretching, and I closed my eyes and sighed as I
sank into the water. I took the small plastic bowl from the edge of the
tub, and used it to dip water from the tub and pour it over my head, and
face, and body. Several dips, and I handed it to Juan who repeated the
ritual for himself.

Juan motioned for me to turn around and sit facing away from him. When I
did so, he rubbed the bar of soap onto a washcloth and began to scrub my
back, neck and shoulders. He pushed hard, and the feel of the smooth soap
and the rough cloth was very pleasant on my sore back. He handed the cloth
to me so I could wash my face and chest and continued to rub his strong
hands over my back. I hung my head and relaxed as he traced my muscles with
the heels of his hands. In several places I could feel him scraping off
spatters of paint with his fingernails.

He stopped for a moment, then I felt him pour the bowl of warm water over
my head and shoulders, rinsing the soap away with his smooth hands. When he
finished he pulled at my arm and had me turn around again and face him. He
soaped up the washcloth again and began to wash the paint from my face and
chest. There were little gobs of paint stuck in the hair on my chest and
belly, and he gently pulled it out with his fingernails. He made me hold
out my arms for his examination.  When I was clean to his satisfaction, he
dipped and rinsed me again, then handed the bowl to me and smiled.

"Papa wash me?" he asked with an impish smile.

I turned him around and scrubbed his brown back until it was free of any
speck of paint. His short-cropped hair had globs of white paint which had
dripped down when he painted the trim along the ceiling.

I rinsed him off and turned him around again. He slid close to me with his
legs over my knees. I scrubbed the paint from his shoulders and arms, from
his chest and firm flat stomach, pulled a gob from his eyebrow, then
scoured his legs. He sat patiently through all this, his eyes half closed
as if this was wonderfully luxurious. I rinsed him with water from the
bowl, and wiped him clean with my hands. The water was rather cool by now,
but he didn't seem to mind. When we were both clean, I stepped out of the
tub, took a towel, dried off then held out the towel for Juan Carlos. Our
common bath had suggested other activities, but I resisted the urge to
engage in sexual play.

I dressed and went into the living room to sit on the sofa while he dried
himself and put on his old clothes. He joined me looking wistful, knowing
that he was to return to Maria's. We lay on the sofa for a while and held
each other. Finally I shooed him to the door. Just before he left, he
reached up, kissed me quickly on the lips, then turned and trotted off.

I watched him run through the dark until the disappeared from sight, then
went inside to bed. I remember thinking that I should probably pray about
this whole thing.

I awoke about 8:00 the next morning and found Juan asleep next to me. He
had crept in silently while I was asleep and slipped into bed with me. I
eased out of bed without waking him, pulled on my paint clothes from the
day before and went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Rather than
make toast, I decided to utilize my box of biscuit mix. I lit the oven on
the propane stove and guessed at a medium oven. Pouring what looked like
enough mix into a bowl, I added some milk and an egg and stirred it around
with a wooden spoon until it stuck together. Scooping up dough with a
spoon, I pressed it into disks between my hands and laid them on our
griddle.

In about 30 minutes they began to smell quite good, and when I looked, they
were turning brown on top. I slid the griddle out, laid it on the counter
and pulled some butter and jam from the icebox. I was thinking about taking
a tray into the bedroom when Juan appeared at the door from thebedroom. His
eyes were half shut but his nose was twitching.

"Good morning," I said.

"Oh Papa. It makes a good smell."

"You hungry?"

For an answer he poured coffee in an extra cup and set it on the table
along with a pair of plates. He topped up my cup and added some milk and
sugar to his. He sat down expectantly, rubbed his eyes and yawned deeply.

"You want some eggs?" I asked.

"No Papa," he said, "just your little bread."

"They are called biscuits," I explained, and placed a plate of them on the
table.

"Biscuits," he repeated, breaking one open and spreading it with butter on
one side and jam on the other. Putting the two halves back together, he
took a big bite and chewed thoughtfully.

"I like you biscuits," he smiled.

Actually, I thought they turned out pretty good. We ate half of them and
wrapped the leftovers in a clean dishtowel. After we washed up the dishes,
we went out to inspect the outside of the house. I took a wire brush, Juan
took a scraper and we started working out way around the stucco
house. First he scraped off the big stuff and I followed with the wire
brush and cleaned up the rest.

As we worked we talked. I asked him what he liked best in school, what kind
of work he thought he might like to do and how much he enjoyed his
soccer. He answered me thoughtfully and we had a pretty good conversation,
combining our knowledge of Spanish and English. As we talked, he never
stopped working but scraped away as if on autopilot. We worked steadily at
it and it went fairly quickly. Much of the stucco and trim was bare and the
paint on the rest came off easily.

Except for water and pee breaks we worked steadily until noon. When we
found ourselves back at our starting point we put up our tools and went in
for lunch, washing our hands and faces in the kitchen sink. I sliced the
leftover biscuits and filled them with the last of our ham and cheese. Corn
chips and a couple of cold sodas made a good lunch.

As soon as the sodas were finished we set to work on the painting. I had a
little stool that let me reach the top of the wall, so I painted from the
center to the top while Juan painted below me down to the ground. We had
big brushes and slapped on a thick layer of white paint over the rough
plaster. It went fast, and by late afternoon we had made it all around the
little house with a fresh white coat of paint.

I had most of a can of the blue paint from inside, so we decided to use
that for the trim. I went along the eves under the tile roof, and Juan went
around the door and window frames. In another 2 hours of steady work we had
finished.

We washed out the brushes in a bucket of water, then walked outside the
wall that circled the house to inspect our work. It was surprising how much
difference a fresh coat of paint could make. We had a new house both inside
and out.

We still had 3 or 4 hours of daylight left, so we grabbed two more sodas, a
pair of clean towels and headed for the beach a half hour away. There were
some men there casting bait far out into the water with big heavy
tackle. They seemed not to notice us as we walked to an open area and
started to wade in.

Juan hesitated for a moment, then stopped, pulled off his shorts and tossed
them up on the sand. He looked at me with a giggle and ran into the water.
I glanced at the disinterested fishermen and threw my clothes beside his.

We walked and hopped through the surf until we were in about waist
high. When the trough of the wave passed it fell to our knees, then the
wave itself lifted us off of our feet. We jumped up and down and held on to
each other like s couple of children at play. The sand and the motion of
the salt water peeled much of the paint from our skin. Before long the sun
began to drop lower in the sky and we decided it was time to get back
before the little store closed.

We trotted out of the water naked and dripping to where our clothes lay in
disarray, grabbed the towels and dried off.  Pulling on the paint clothes
we headed back to the truck, still ignored by the fishermen who had begun
to catch some fish, taking them from the hook and heaving them back onto
the sand. The air was clear and salty and the breeze felt good on our damp
skin. I could not remember feeling so alive and aware of all my
senses. This was a magical place, and I was sharing it with a wild creature
who knew and understood this world.

Half an hour later we parked at the little store. It was close to closing
time, but by now we were recognized as regulars and welcomed with a
smile. We quickly piled up some sliced ham and good white Mexican cheese, a
loaf of thick bread, eggs, some tomatoes, peppers, and onions, and another
box of biscuit mix. I added a case of assorted fruit flavored Mexican soft
drinks, made with cane sugar with a crisp clean taste. Juan added some
candied squash, dark red and firm as candy. I sliced off a sample and found
it to be very good. On a whim I picked out a couple of Cuban cigars.

We loaded everything into the back of the old truck and headed home. We had
put in a tiring day but finished painting the house. It was beginning to
look like a home. We put away all the food then took a bath, separately
this time, and quickly so that we could eat.

We had worked hard all day and then played hard in the surf. We had eaten
light and were ready now for something substantial. I could probably have
fixed us some supper but was tired and not inclined to cook, so we pulled
on clean clothes and drove back to the little restaurant for a decent
meal. It had been a productive day.

The owners looked up at us when we walked in and gave us a nod of
recognition. We belonged there and were accepted. When I was greeted in
Spanish I replied appropriately, thanks to Juan's instruction. We were both
learning a lot.

I told Juan to ask the owner to simply fix me something he thought I would
enjoy. I wanted to try something new. Juan relayed that information and the
owner laughed, shrugged and nodded. What came back was thinly sliced beef,
grilled quickly then tossed with finely diced tomatoes, green peppers,
roasted garlic, and what looked like mayonnaise. On the side was sliced
tomato and cucumbers with guacamole on top.  On a separate plate was the
staple of rice and re-fried beans.

It was a very large platter intended for two. Juan helped himself on the
extra plate provided and we both ate our fill. The owner came over several
times to check on us and we moaned with pleasure, assuring him that
everything was wonderful. When we had eaten as much as we could, he took it
away and brought us both a nice flan, which he refused to charge us for.

When we were finished, he came back with the check and chatted with
us. While I caught the drift of what he was saying, it was Juan who
replied, nodding to me as if he was only repeating what I wanted to say. I
chimed in with my limited vocabulary, agreeing with whatever Juan said
whether I understood it or not. It was all very pleasant, if a little
vague.

On the way back Juan filled in what I had missed. The restaurant owner was
thanking us for our business, and also complimenting me for being willing
to try the local dishes and for trying to speak the language. Basically he
was telling us that we were very welcome there.

I thought about that for a minute and said to Juan, "We make a good team."

"You think so Papa?"

"Yes, I can do what you cannot and you can do what I cannot. Between the
two of us, I think we can do almost anything."

Juan thought about what I had said, digesting it for a minute. Then
understanding, he smiled very wide and said, "Yes Papa, I think so.  We
make a good team."

We brought out a couple of kitchen chairs and sat out in the back garden of
my 'villa' to enjoy the evening. I pulled out the cigars and offered one to
Juan, expecting him to refuse. To my surprise, he accepted it gratefully
and we lit up to blow smoke into the night air. I looked at my boy and
considered him to be the Mexican version of Huckleberry Finn. All we needed
now, was a raft.


...to be continued.

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