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This is not a true story, but it is based on real life accounts.

 

`El Gringo'

by Maximo

 


The 1940's were a time of endless sugarcane fields in Puerto Rico, where this story takes place. This a story of a one-day friendship that changed my life forever. It made me aware of my true self.

 

I was about 11, the only boy and also the youngest. My father worked at a nearby field and would be gone for hours. Those were hard times...

Most people in the countryside lived in poverty. Like many children of the time, I lived in the outskirt of a city, in a small house on stilt poles across ten or so houses that looked much the same: shoddily built structures with reclaimed wood, zinc roofs, or palm tree leaves layered thickly all over. The `better' houses were built of concrete or mortar, and had to be painted dark green on the roof, as the Second World War was in full apogee and the Island was often under threat, or at least they thought it was very vulnerable being a territory of the United States. Those houses were poor as well, but they lived somewhat better or so it was said. My dad had a very good friend called Miguel, who drove a truck to town twice a month, to sell his produce. Everybody loved Miguel, or Compay Miguel, because he was friendly, helpful and you could always count on him for everything. Miguel was all I wanted to be when I grew up. My older sister would marry his son, Felipe, in three months, so were pretty much family. But, this story is not about him in any way.

As I said, I was 11 years old when this story takes place. My three sisters two of which were twins were so much older than me, it was almost as if I had four mothers if we count mom; they treated me very nicely, and were protective of me as I was a sickly boy when I was very young. Medicine was not something for the poor. Whenever I fell sick, all I had for medicine were home remedies. My father would spend all day from dawn to dusk at the field, then he would go with his friends or `compays' to the tavern—my mother was never happy about that, but he never came home drunk and he worked hard to provide for us. He was also very protective of my sisters and my mother, a good man, and a good father to all of us. He loved my mother and my mother only.

My sisters would help mother with the housework; the twins would tidy up around the house and they went to school while the older sister cooked, or helped my mother peeling green bananas, or gathering crops for the different foods we ate, washed clothes or whatever women did back then. I went to school too, and, I also had the chores of a boy my age: gather eggs, watch after the chicken, bring lunch and water to the workers at the cane field. I was also sent to the `colmado' a lot. A colmado was a small market with all the essentials.

After school, I would walk home, barefoot. I never had many friends, but some kids hung around me. I was an okay kid, but something about me didn't interest `friends' so, when I met El Gringo, I never really understood what drew him to me. What he saw in me that I didn't, or other kids didn't.

With time I've learned that the word Gringo may be offensive to some Americans, but remember, I was a child, I didn't know better then.

His name was actually Walter and he was visiting the island. I don't think he was much older or younger than me.

I met him when my father had something to do in town, and he said I should go as it would be good for me. I wanted to go because I hardly got any time to spend with my father.

Compay Miguel had a good crop of grapefruit and he would try to sell his grapefruit at the market downtown—it was extra income put towards his son's wedding. So, Compay Miguel drove us to town. I was amazed by all the colorful buildings and all the different shops all over the narrow, but busy streets.

My father got me a bag of `crispe' or colorized caramel-coated popcorn and I was so elated.... I tried to be moderate and only ate a few mouthfuls so I could share with my sisters later when I got home. I had just so much to tell them of the sights of the city... There were men and children selling fruits like oranges and guava in carts, and mangoes in others, and ladies selling toys and all kinds of trinkets...I jumped up and down alongside my father and Compay Miguel pointing at everything I saw, smiling as wide as I could, and all the things that I had never, ever dreamed of were right before my eyes. I was a poor kid, and I hardly went outside my little community of ten or so houses. I almost never left my street. It really was a nice change.

Compay Miguel, relented and told me I could choose one toy from the lady who was selling all sorts of toys. In those days the toys were very simple, but brought me a lot of joy. I chose, of course, a `Trompo' or Whipping Top, which is spun by winding a length of string around it. I wanted one in red. It was new and shiny and would be the devise that attracted Walter to me.

It was a sunny day in the Caribbean springtime. A nice breeze was blowing, and smelled of perfumes and ocean.

My father and Compay Miguel weren't doing very good on their business of selling grapefruit and decided to have a bit of rest at the town square. It had a large fountain with a statue in it on center, as it is tradition the church was facing the town square. There were some benches and tall trees with flowers all over the canopy, so there was plenty of shade and lots of open space to play. I asked my father if I could play with my new trompo, and he told me to not go too far. I promised that I would stay close. Happy as can be, with my new toy, I ran around for a while chasing my trompo. I unwound the string and let it spin. It would spin for a while, and go for some distance, before it would topple on its side. Finally, I stopped by a large tree, thinking I had lost it, and that's where I saw him...a cherubic face, wide blue eyes, looking at me with great curiosity, his white hand extended, holding my trompo out towards me. He was dressed like a little sailor, and his eyes were so big a bright...he was celestial in my eyes.

I was one scruffy Puerto Rican boy; my sun-tanned skin and thick, wavy dark brown hair sticking up everywhere must have looked right exotic sight to this boy from the states. I thought he was angel, sent by God, to watch over me...I thought I had met my guardian angel and my heart was leaping. Walter looked very shy at first, but he turned out to be not so when we got closer.

Children don't need much words to make a friend. To relate. I took my top and thanked him. He said nothing. I quickly understood that he and I would never understand each other, if we spoke to one another. He smiled when I took the top from his hand and I smiled back. He stood close to me and watched me play. I let him play with my trompo. I taught him how to wind the string and how to make it spin—I didn't need any words, but he understood. It was so much fun we forgot that we had parents.

Together we chased the top on and off. We would try to climb on the statue, and we would run around and laugh and race each other to and fro around the square. My father and Compay Miguel were watching us and smiling. I think they approved of my new friend.

They were conversing, and another man had joined them; he was a merchant and sometimes he passed by our street selling oranges, or other fruits. I waved and ran along with Walter. I was possibly having the best of my young life.

I had to pee so I walked up to the bushes. Walter followed me. His pretty blonde hair was starting to get damp with sweat. I wasn't at all discreet when eyeballing him. He was just beautiful. I felt so intrigued by him.

When I unzipped my shorts, my little penis stuck out of the fly, and a stream of piss hit the trunk of a tall tree. Walter did the same but his boyhood was so much different than mine. He was circumcised, while I wasn't. His was all pink and plump looking, longish and kind of stout like some sort of prong. Mine was skinny and darker than my skin. We were fascinated by what we saw.

Naturally, someone had to touch. It was Walter, who did it first: he reached out and grasped my little penis while I relieved myself. It felt so new to have another hand holding my penis... but I had the feeling that we were sharing something very private and special so I held his penis in my hand in return. It felt so right and so thrilling.

When I finished peeing, he didn't let go of my penis, and I didn't let go of his. I was too naïve to understand— I explored his penis and he explored mine, tugging my foreskin up and down. I moved my hand in the same way he moved his hand over mine. I soon started to get a strange and completely new feeling, a tingly warm feeling, and I guess he felt it too. It was a lovely feeling. He was breathing hard, and looked so red on his face...I was gasping and shuddering at my knees. I didn't know what was happening but I wanted it to happen and he seemed to want it as much as I did.

Then it was over.

A woman was calling his name (that's how I learned his name was Walter, really). He looked so bewildered, but he smiled at me and I almost fainted. He ran off to meet his mother, a woman in a floral dress nearby the fountain. I hung by the tree, waving sadly and full of emotions I didn't understand. I watched them disappear into the pink building across the east side of the square, then I ran off to see my father and Compay Miguel. They didn't seem to have missed me at all.

"Y que tu hacía' con ese gringo?" asked Compay Miguel in his nonchalant way.

`What were you doing with that Gringo?'

"Jugando" I replied, `playing'. I gave a little shrug as if nothing had happened and got back to my popcorn. My dad smiled and put his big hand on my shoulder.

"Véngase, vamo' a vel si se venden las toronaja' y nos vamo' pa casa"

`Come on, let's see if we can sell the grapefruit and go home'.

Lonelily, I kept eating mouthfuls of Crispe until father and Compay Miguel said it was time to go back. It was a long ride home and I was very quiet. I was thoughtful. I missed Walter.

I never saw him again, but I still reminisce that day and I smile. I wonder if he thinks of me.

I wonder...

 

 

 

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If you enjoyed this story, or have any comments, you can send your thoughts and impressions to:

 

maximo_davila@yahoo.com