Date: Fri, 21 Apr 2017 20:04:02 +0200
From: Nick Brady <y2kslacker@mail.com>
Subject: Mexico - Chapter 5

Mexico – Chapter 5.

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Copyright 2017 by Nick Thompson, all rights reserved.

-------------------------------------------------------


When I woke up, it was Sunday morning and the sun was bright outside. I
could hear Juan rattling around in the kitchen and smelled coffee. I got
up, pulled on some clean clothes and went in the kitchen to check on
him. He was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, reading the
little Mexican paper we picked up from the store and drinking a cup of
coffee. He looked up when I walked in and pointed to a photo of a soccer
team posed in front of a goal net.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, sliced a couple of cold biscuits and set
them on a plate with some butter and jam. We each took one, and Juan began
to tell me about the team in the picture. They were from Jalisco and were
playing a team from Guadalajara in the afternoon. He was familiar with some
of the players and tried to tell me something about them. I understood what
he was saying and realized that his English was improving. When I suggested
that we go to the game he became very animated.

He got up and went to the bedroom where he selected some clothes from where
he kept them folded neatly on a chair. It was clear that this boy was
determined to move in with me whether I was ready for that or not. I opened
a small footlocker that had very little in it, and shifted the contents
from the bottom drawer of my dresser. I pointed at his clothes, then at the
drawer, and Juan smiled broadly. He quickly stacked his clothes in the
drawer. When he had them arranged to suit himself, he smiled, stood up, and
hugged me.

"I love you, Papa," he said softly.

I hugged him tight and rubbed my hands over his back. "Oh, Juan. What am I
going to do about you?"

We put some sodas and a chunk of ice in my little cooler and took off for
the soccer game. It was in a field just outside of Jalisco. There was an
old concrete stadium there, and by the time the game started, it was nearly
filled with a good crowd. The team was a local semi-pro playing a
better-financed team from Guadalajara. I fished out 30 pesos apiece and
paid for us to get in. We found some good seats half-way up in the center
on the home team side, and drank a soda waiting for the game to start.

"Did you get the results of your big test?" I asked.

"Yes. I did good, Papa."

"Your term ends soon, doesn't it?"

"Si. Summer is no school."

"Then after next year is upper secondary, right?"

Juan hesitated. "I don't know Papa. I want to go, but...," he shrugged.

I looked straight at him. "Juan, I told you before, that if you want to go
on to school, I will make it happen. But you have to work very hard and
make very good grades."

He looked back without blinking. "If I can go to school Papa, I will work
very hard for you. I promise."

"Work hard for yourself Juan. It's your life."

He held my eyes, but the somber expression shifted into a hopeful smile.

"My life," he smiled thoughtfully and nodded, "My life."

I raised my half-empty bottle of Mexican soda and he clinked it with his.

"Saluda," we both said at once, then drained the bottles.

The noise level of the growing crowd indicated that something was
happening. Both teams had come out onto the field at opposite ends, and
were warming up. When the game began the crowd got loud.

I had played a little soccer as a kid, although baseball was my sport. I
had seen some amateur games but never soccer as these guys played it. Our
vantage point from half-way up let us see the whole field at once. For the
first time I appreciated the teamwork, the constant motion of the players
to be in position for a potential play of the ever-shifting ball as it was
controlled first by one side then the other. I had never appreciated the
finesse required to position ball and players to make a goal strike
possible. When a shot was taken, the energy exploded from both the players
and the crowd.

Juan was totally absorbed in the game. He was following the action much
better than I was and tried to explain it to me in an excited mixture of
English and Spanish. I began to enjoy the game more than I expected.

The game ended 4 to 3, with the visitor prevailing in the final few
minutes. The near misses were exciting, but the tension was contained and
waiting to be released in an explosion of emotion when a ball finally hit
the back of the net.

After the game we walked out to where my old truck was parked. A truck was
selling soft tacos and we bought a half dozen and ate them on the way back
home. We took our time and drove back in a wandering route that took us
through a lot of farm land. Small houses and sheds were cluttered with the
implements of scratching a living out of the ground. Small fields of corn,
beans, squash and tomatoes stood next to pens of chickens and goats. This
was rural Mexico.

Once back at the house, Juan decided that our garden was dry and began to
pull buckets of water from the pump and soak all the shrubs and the fresh
sprouts growing from the seeds he had planted. They looked healthy,
although I had no idea what they were. The shrubs he had planted beside the
gate that led into the walled yard were thriving. His gardening project
appeared to be successful.

I walked inside and went through the house, picking up trash, bringing
stray cups and spoons back to the kitchen, and sorting all the laundry into
a couple of baskets for Maria to wash. When we finished our chores we sat
down at the table and I sliced up a small melon that I had brought from the
store. Juan grabbed a couple of plates to eat on and a towel to wipe up the
juice. The flesh was yellow-green and very sweet. It would hold us until
supper.

"I don't mind your sleeping here, but Maria wants you to stay with her," I
reminded him.

"I want to stay here, Papa." He said, looking at his melon.

"Maria is responsible for you. I guess we have to do what she says."

Juan looked up from his melon and frowned. "Maria doesn't care about me,
Papa. She just want me to make money for her."

"Maria took you in from the streets when you were a little boy," I
recalled. Surely she cares about you."

Juan sighed. "When I was a little boy, I think Maria is like my
mama. Victor, I don't see so much," he explained. "Maria give me much work
to do. I help wash clothes for people, help clean houses, whatever she ask
me. I don't care. I have a bed, I can eat. It is better than the
street. Street was very bad for me. When I get bigger, Victor take me to
Enrique and make me be a pretty boy. I told you about this. But I do not
like this kind of work. Some men were very bad and hurt me, so I made
trouble for Victor," Juan scowled and looked down. "Victor is very bad man,
beat me up. I run away, find Maria, tell her Victor bad. Tell her I don't
want this."

"What did Maria say?" I asked.

"She know, Papa. She know about Victor. He do this before with other
boys. Maybe Maria don't like so much, but Victor is the boss for her. Maria
was not happy when I come back. She was afraid Victor beat her up."

"So what did you do?"

"If Victor come, I go away from Maria house. I go to the store, to
restaurant. You know these places, we go there. I work and clean, do
anything. Sleep in store, eat in kitchen for working. When Victor go away,
I go back and see Maria. She let me stay. When Victor come again, I go. I
do like that for long time. Now Victor go away for a long time. "

"Maybe Maria really does care for you Juan. She took you back."

"I think maybe she like me a little," he looked hopeful, then frowned
again. "She make me work for nothing. She take the money, give me little,
very little. I can sleep, eat something. Maria keeps money. I work your
house, Maria keep all the money. I cannot go to school anymore."

"But she has let you go to school for this long. Maybe she will let you go
on," I reasoned.

"She not want I go school. She says no time for school. If I go to school
then no time for work." He struggled for the words to explain. "Now, my
school not cost money. I must buy books, paper, cost little money. My
teacher gives this to me. Next year is new school, costs money. How much, I
don't know. Maria will not pay. Maria do not like Papa. She say I go to
your house too much, not work for her. Not make money for Maria."

This was by far the most Juan had ever told me. For him, it was quite a
long speech. He had thought this through pretty well. The boy was no
fool. He was looking at something that seemed impossible for him.

"What do I do, Juan?  How do I make this work?"

The boy shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know Papa."

I put my hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. Working out the details
with Maria was my job, not his. I was more confident, now that Paulo had
said he would try to help. There had to be a way.

I picked up the dishes and rinsed them off in the kitchen sink. We had put
in a busy day and I was hungry, which meant that Juan was starving. We
drove to the restaurant in town.

The owner nodded at us in a friendly when we walked in, then continued his
conversation with a family at one of the tables. We were regulars now and
no longer the subject of much interest. I told Juan that I felt like
something cool with shrimp. He ordered for us, and we watched a Mexican
variety show on the TV behind the counter while we waited.

What came out of the kitchen was a large plate of shrimp tostadas, cold
boiled shrimp and pico de gaillo on a crisp corn tortilla spread with
mayonnaise. On the side was a plate of fresh sliced limes, which we
squeezed and dribbled generously over the shrimp. Two ice-cold grapefruit
sodas and we cleaned up the half-dozen generous tostadas in no time. We
split a flan and were satisfied. We sat for awhile and watched a comedy
skit on the TV. I had little idea what was being said, but the slapstick
humor didn't need translation to be amusing.

When the show finished we started home. It was a beautiful night and we
drove slowly with the windows rolled down. Juan laid down across the front
seat with his feet stuck out the window and his head in my lap looking up
at me. I drove with my left hand and gave him a belly rub with my
right. Once home, we undressed and took a bath, sharing the water and
washing each other. Juan finished first, dried off and disappeared into the
bedroom. When I followed him a few minutes later, he was already in bed.

I threw the towel over the back of the chair and slid in next to him. He
rolled up close to me, put his head on my shoulder and laid his leg over my
thigh. I wrapped my arm around him, and slowly ran my hand over his
shoulders and down his back, following the smooth curve of his ass
cheeks. His brown skin was smooth as satin, a soft thin layer over sinew,
hard muscle and bone. I could feel him swelling hard against my hip and he
ran his fingertips lightly over the curly hair on my chest. I was tired,
and waited for him to begin to play, when I realized that he was asleep,
and breathing steadily. I rolled my face over so that my nose was stuck
into his fine black hair and held very still, so as not to wake him.

When I woke up at 8:00 he was gone. I went into the kitchen to find coffee
made and a cup set out. I filled the cup and remembered that this was the
day Paulo was to come and start work on the house. I walked out into the
garden to wait for him and looked at the shrubs and the sprouts from the
flower seeds that Juan had planted. The garden was filled with fresh green,
new life. My life here in Mexico was also beginning to grow.

Paulo drove up about 8:30 with the bed of his truck filled with pipe and
plasterboard. I greeted him and helped him carry the materials into the
house. He explained to me that today, he intended to replace the dry rot in
the bathroom.

The plumbing in my little house was minimal. There was a well with a small
reservoir, a hand pump in the garden and another in the kitchen. A small
tank on the bathroom was filled by a little electric pump and was used to
flush the toilet. Paulo wanted me to consider a larger project which was to
install a storage tank on the roof to be filled with an electric pump so
that the bathroom and kitchen sink could be plumbed for running water. He
had sketched out his proposal and estimated the cost for me to
consider. The cost was less than I would have expected and would make the
house much more modern.

"This really looks good," I told him.

"I think you will like it much better," said Paulo.

"It's a great idea. When can you start?" I said with a smile.

We agreed on a price and I would front him money for the materials so he
could begin right away. My retirement income was modest. I had some savings
and the proceeds from the house I sold back in the States. I was not a rich
man, but this project was affordable for me and would make my little house
much more comfortable.

Paulo was ready to begin some of the preparation work, so I served as his
helper for the day. We talked as we worked.

"How is Juan Carlos?" Paulo asked.

"He is really a good boy," I replied. "He wants to continue with school but
he's afraid that Maria and Victor will not let him."

Paulo scowled. "They use Juan to make money for them."

"Juan should have a better future than that to look forward to," I said.

"Yes, he is a smart boy, and he has a good heart," Paulo nodded.

"He wants to move in with me, wants me to be a father for him. I want to
help him but I don't want to get him in trouble with Maria and Victor," I
explained. "Juan is very afraid of Victor, and I don't know how to do this
thing."

Paulo stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "You would do this for
the boy?  You would be a father for him, let him live in your house and pay
for his school?"

I took a deep breath. "I was married a long time, Paulo, but never had any
children. I never had a son. Juan means a lot to me and I would like to see
him have a better life. So yes, I would do that for him. I think I told you
that before."

Paulo looked thoughtful and nodded his head slowly. "I will try to help
you, Senor Thompson. Maybe I know someone who knows how to do these
things. I will talk to Maria."

We went back to work and tore out the rotten boards to be replaced later. I
made us a couple of sandwiches at lunch and we spent the day working and
talking. Paulo was a good man. He didn't go into any details, but gave me
to understand that his youth had been not unlike Juan's. He was on his own
at an early age and had to survive as best he could. Clearly he had to do
some things to survive that he was not proud of. He understood how to get
things done here better than I did. He would make a good partner in these
projects, both the remodeling and with Juan Carlos.

We were still working when Juan came back from school. He looked a little
surprised to see Paulo and returned his broad smile.

"How was school today?" I asked.

"Good, Papa. Always it is good," He gave me a quick hug and glanced at
Paulo.  I hugged the boy and said. "Paulo will try to help us. He will talk
to Maria about your living with me, so you can go to school."

"Oh!  Muchas gracias, senor," he exclaimed to Paulo. Hugging me around the
waist and burying his face in my chest, he said, "Gracias Papa, por darme
una vida."

Not understanding, I looked at Paulo who coughed and explained, "He thanks
you for giving him a life," the man's eyes were wet.

"Nothing is sure in this life, Juan Carlos," I said. "But we will try our
best to make this happen."

I shook hands with Paulo, who promised to come back as soon as he located
all the materials for our plumbing. We waved goodbye as he drove down the
dusty road. He had no sooner gotten out of sight than Maria came to clean
and fix supper.

When Maria saw Juan her face darkened. She nodded to me and began her work,
but did not look happy. She made a list of things to buy at the store and
handed it to Juan, saying something sharp to him. He brought the list to
me.

"Let's go, Papa," he said quietly.

We climbed into the truck and drove to the store. "What did Maria say?" I
asked.

"Nada," he said. "Nothing."

"She sounded angry."

He sighed. "She asks if she work for me now. She asks if this is my house."

I thought about this as we pulled up to the store. "Let's see what Paulo
says. He said he would talk to her."

Juan said nothing as we walked in and filled Maria's list. I added a few
goodies and paid. When we got back, we puttered in the garden until supper
was ready. Maria placed the meal on the table and called to us. The meal
was cooked and the utensils cleaned, then she left without another word.

We made some small talk, but after supper Juan was quiet. He said he had
some homework and went into the bedroom while I watched TV.

After awhile, I turned the set off and went into the bedroom to find Juan
wrapped up in the covers with his head covered. I sat down on the edge of
the bed and shook his shoulder gently. He moved a little but did not speak.

"What's the matter, Juan? Are you OK?"

When he didn't answer I rolled him over on his back and uncovered his
face. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet.

Wiping his face with my hand, I asked, "What's wrong Juan Carlos?"

His eyes filled with tears again and he grabbed my arm, holding it to his
chest as he shook his head slowly from side to side.

"I don't know, Papa," he whispered. "I am so happy here with you. I want
you to be my Papa and go to school, but I'm afraid. You don't know
Victor. I'm so afraid."

"Yes, I think you're right about Victor. I think that Maria is more afraid
of Victor than angry with you, Juan. Let's see what Paulo says. He
understands these things better than we do."

Juan looked directly at me, "But, I am afraid, Papa."

I leaned over and drew him close. "I won't let anybody hurt you. There is a
way of working this out. Please don't cry. You are so dear to me," I found
myself crying with him.

We lay like that for several minutes until the dark mood passed. Eventually
I pressed my mouth to his neck and blew air out, making fart noises that
gave Juan a fit of laughter. We began to tickle each other and play like
two children. In the process of wrestling, the quilt fell away and revealed
that Juan was naked.

His slender brown body was tight and sinewy as he struggled against my
ticking fingers. He gave out peals of laughter and his brown eyes were
bright and flashing.  This was the Juan I treasured - happy and full of
life.

This continued until we were both breathless and fell together in a heap. I
kissed his cheek and he began to slip his fingers under my shirt, loosening
the buttons and feeling the curly hair on my chest. When my shirt was open,
he laid his face on my stomach and worked with the zipper on my pants,
prying open the top button and unzipping me. I ran my hand up and down his
arm and shoulder, as he slipped his hand into my crotch to feel the furry
things inside.

In a few minutes we were both naked and he sat astride me, his firm ass
cheeks on top of my penis with his knees up against my sides. His slim
brown cock emerged from a small bush of straight black pubic hair and lay
across my stomach, the foreskin extending out beyond the head in a loose
pucker, his hairless balls laid out to each side at the base of his
swelling cock. His small hands passed gently over my face, feeling the
scratchy stubble, down my neck to tickle my nipples which stood erect in a
sea of rusty gray hair, his fingers passing over them in small circles.

I put my hands around his hips and began to rock him gently back and forth,
lifting my hips slightly to move him up and down my hardening dick. He
closed his eyes and began to move over me, massaging me with his ass. He
raised up a bit and spread his cheeks so that my cock fit between them and
slid up and down, pinching my nipples and smiling at me, squeezing me with
his firm buns. Whatever reservations I may have had fled, and I closed my
eyes and lay still, letting the boy pleasure me.

I opened my eyes and saw that he was now fully erect and seemed to be
enjoying the process as much as I.

"Do you like this, Papa?" he asked softly.

I nodded my head in reply and took him in my hand, pulling his hard cock
away from his flat belly to wrap my fingers around it and began to stroke
him. We got into a rhythm, he sliding back and forth, me stroking up and
down, until we filled up and spilled over onto each other. Juan arched his
back, closed his eyes and spit long ropes of white cum over my arm and onto
my chest. A moment later the sight of his orgasm brought on mine, and my
semen spread out over my stomach to join his, as we continued to rock back
and forth. As simple as this play was, it was immensely satisfying. We were
joined together and watched closely as we brought each other to climax.

We finished and relaxed. He clamped down on my cock, squeezing the last
juice out of me. I pulled his foreskin all the way down and brought my
thumb up the length of him to milk him until he was empty. We smiled at
each other then he laid down on top of me and we held each other tight,
feeling the warm damp spunk between us, gluing us together.

After we recovered, we got up and bathed together, leisurely washing away
all the messiness of sexual satisfaction. I dried him off with a clean
towel, he took it and did the same for me. When we were both dry, we turned
out the light and walked to the bed to lie together for the night, sleeping
soundly and peacefully without ever speaking a word.

I woke up to hear Juan slipping out the kitchen door. In the quiet of the
cool morning I could hear his feet crunch the gravel as he trotted away to
school. I poured a cup of coffee from the pot waiting on the stove and sat
down on the back step to drink it.

It was cool and damp this morning and the sky was darker than usual. We
would have another rain. I had expected Mexico to be arid, but in this area
it was lush and green. Later in the summer perhaps it got hot and dry, but
now it was lovely.

This was all new to me - a new life, new people, new opportunities, and new
challenges. Certainly the relationship with Juan was a new experience. I
blew into the hot coffee sending a small white cloud of vapor into the cool
air.

The time in my life when I was most alive, most excited about living, was
when I was a young man and sexually active with other young men. Every
action, taste, feel and smell of life had meaning to me. Later I was to
suppress that excitement to fit the mold of 'normalcy'. I should have no
complaints. My marriage was satisfying. We had no children, but it was not
because we didn't try. I would have liked children, and now it seemed I had
a son, even more than a son.

I had come full circle. Now I was single, and in a relationship with a
boy. He filled all my needs. Here was a beautiful young man to be my
passionate and responsive lover. Here was my young friend who endeared me
with his courage and excitement for living. Here was my longing for a son
to nurture and encourage. Could one person fill all those roles? Was it
possible, was it right? I began to realize that this was the life that I
had always wanted, and it both thrilled and frightened me.

Taking a deep breath, I stood and drained my cup. I knew I could only do
this one day at a time, one step at a time. The first thing was to work
something out with Maria, and Paulo was working on that. I couldn't do this
alone. I would have to be patient. I didn't want to make trouble for
anyone, least of all Juan Carlos. If it was supposed to work out it
would. I was very hopeful that it would.

Juan came home from school and Maria came to fix supper and left us
alone. Juan did his homework and studied. When it was time for bed we
bathed and fell asleep. This was to become our routine.

In a few days, Paulo showed up in his truck stacked with pipe fittings, an
electric pump, a gas fired water heater and a large square steel tank that
he had scrounged from somewhere. With me as his unskilled helper, we rigged
a semi-modern plumbing system from the odds and ends available. When Juan
got home from school, he helped as well. By week's end, the house was
fitted with a tank in the attic, and an electric pump to fill it from the
well. There was a line to the kitchen and bath, and a water heater imported
from the Costco in Jalisco. By some magic it all worked. Juan was home from
school on Friday when Paulo turned the switch and the tank started to
fill. We cheered and patted Paulo on the back while he beamed with pride.

"This calls for a celebration!" I said with enthusiasm. "Let's go have
dinner at the restaurant, and I will treat."

"Yes, I would like that very much," said a beaming Paulo. "When we come
back it will be the test. Maybe we have a flood."

Juan left a note for Maria saying that we had gone out for supper. We all
drove off in my truck. When we got to the restaurant we took the table at
the back next to the kitchen, and I ordered hFresca for Juan and a couple
of Mexican beers for Paulo and myself.

"No, senor. I drink a Fresca," Paulo stopped me.

"Of course, if you like," I said. "But this is something to celebrate."

"Yes, it is a celebration. But I drink no alcohol. I hope that is OK."

Nodding my head I replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I hope I didn't
offend you."

Paulo laughed in a pleasant way. "No, of course not Senor Thompson. I am
not offended. When I was a young man I drink too much. Now I don't drink at
all. It is better that way."

I ordered 3 Frescas and thought for a moment. "What were things like for
you Paulo? Can you tell us your story?"

Paulo laughed, looking a little embarrassed. "My story is not so
interesting for you I think," when he saw that we were looking at him with
interest, he took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

"You are my friends. I will tell you my story, but I think it will be hard
for Juan to hear. I am afraid that our stories may be much the same. When I
was a little boy I had a mother and father, but things were not so
nice. They sniffed the white powder, do you know? They did many drugs,
alcohol, and they fight all the time. I remember it well. My father, he
would come home very drunk. He beat my mother, he beat me. When I hear him
come in the house, I go out the window, sleep in the street until the next
day. When I was 8 years old, he beat me very bad, so I run away. I ask for
money, ask for food, nobody will help me much," Paulo looked at us. When he
saw that we were listening carefully, he went on.

"I find this lady, or maybe she find me. She is nice to me. She take me to
a good hotel. She lives with other ladies in this hotel. Many men come to
see them. I am too young to understand and don't think much about it. They
let me stay there. I helped with cooking, cleaning, I go get things for
them. I can sleep, I can eat. I think I am OK."

It dawned on me what he was saying. "They were prostitutes."

"Yes, of course," Paulo said. "But they did not beat me."

"So it was OK? They treated you well?"

"Well, you know...," he looked away.

"Was that all you had to do? Just help with chores and run errands?" I
asked.

"Well, sometimes," Paulo hesitated and looked at Juan. "Some men, they like
little boys, and the ladies they told me to be nice to them, you know? And
sometimes the ladies like to play with a little boy, because I was so
innocent. They were like perverts, you know?"

Juan's face shot red and he looked down at the table. Paulo sighed and
continued.

"I had to do things I don't like. It is a very hard thing." Paulo looked at
Juan. "I know how these things are very hard."

Juan did not raise his head, but I could see the tears that fell to the
table.

"In the mornings I go to the big church. Sisters there have a school for
street kids. I go every morning while the ladies sleep. I learned to read,
make my numbers, a little school. I am not smart like Juan Carlos. I think
school is a good thing, but I don't like it so much. When I am a little
older, I can find work making houses. I am a strong boy. I can do these
things. I learn how do many things, and can make a little money. And I do
other things, bad things. I had to live, you know?" Paulo paused.

"When I am 17, I make my girlfriend pregnant, we get married and she has a
little boy. I try to be a good husband, a good father. But I like drinking
too much. We have troubles and I go away. I don't know about her now. I
never see my boy again. I go to United States, I make much trouble, I
steal, I sell drugs – much trouble. I do not have a good life, you
know?"  He looked at us.

I was listening intently, trying to understand what his life must have been
like.  Juan wiped his face on his shirtsleeve and was looking at Paulo with
a sad knowing face.

"I am not good man." Paulo said apologetically. "I drink too much, make
trouble for many people. I am in jail a long time in U.S. When I get out
they bring me back to Mexico, tell me to never come back again. So I come
here to this little town to make a new life. I do not drink any more, work
a little, make some peace with myself.

"You are a good man, Senor Thompson. You have a good life, you come here,
you help Juan Carlos."  Turning to Juan, he said, "You are a lucky boy, you
know? You have a hard time. I understand it. Really, I do. But now you have
good man to help you, to be a father for you. You are so lucky. Please
Juan, work very hard. Do everything you can. I think maybe you never get so
lucky again."

Juan looked at Paulo and opened his mouth to respond, but no words came
out. He pressed his lips together and nodded his head in agreement. The
waiter came to take our order, and we were glad for the
interruption. Taking the menu for the first time, I looked at the others
and said.

"Tres fajitas, por favor."

While we waited for our dinner, Paulo smiled broadly and said. "Now, I
think I have some good news for you."

"What?" we both wanted to know.

"I have lived in this little place for a long time now. I know most people,
and I know many things. I talked to Maria and she tells me that Victor has
not come home for a long time now. She asks other people who know him, and
they will not answer her. So I ask a man I know. He is not a good man, but
he knows about such things and will talk to me. He tells me that Victor
made some very bad business in Guadalajara. He buys a lot of drugs, but he
does not pay all the money he promised. It is a big problem for Victor. The
man tells me that this is not the first time that Victor has this
problem. Now no one knows about Victor. I think maybe Victor will not come
here again."

Juan and I looked at each other. "What are you saying?" I asked. "Did they
kill him?"

Paulo shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but these people are not good. I
think maybe we never see Victor again."

Juan looked very surprised. He looked at me and tears began to stream down
his face. "Oh, Papa. I don't know how to feel. I am so happy to be free
from Victor. But I should not be happy that he is dead. I think about
Maria. What will she do?"

"Do not worry for Maria," Paulo told him. "Victor did not give her much
money. When he comes home with his bad money, he does not give it to
Maria. He spends it on drugs and Tequila. Sometimes, even he takes her
money. I don't know how Maria feels about Victor, but she does not need him
to help her live. It is good that you think about Maria, but she will be
OK" then he smiled, "I think you can live with your Papa now. Maria does
not care, she was only afraid of Victor."

"I will talk to Maria tomorrow when she comes," I told Juan. "I think I
know what to say to her. Don't worry any more. I will be your Papa. I love
you very much, Juan."

Juan looked at me and smiled through his tears. "Thank you, Papa. You never
say you love me before. Now I am very happy."

We had talked enough for now. I gave Juan a handful of coins and pointed to
the jukebox. He went over and punched in a long list of the Mariachi music
that was popular in the area. There was a tuba, lots of trumpets, fiddles,
guitars and sentimental vocals with bright harmony. It was just the thing
to raise our spirits from somber reflection. We laughed and tucked into the
fajitas when they came, scooping the hot beef, onions and peppers into soft
flour tortillas and adding sour cream and guacamole. Soon we were full and
in good spirits.

I thanked Paulo, paid the bill, and put my arm around Juan's shoulder. We
walked out into the cool night air and got in the truck for the ride home.

Juan knew the words to one of the songs on the jukebox and started singing
it on the way back. Paulo joined in and I la-te-da-ed the tune although I
didn't know the words. Something about Amor de Loca Juventud. By the time
we got home we were in much better humor.

Paulo inspected the tank and the new plumbing, and could see that the tank
was full of water, and there were no drips coming from any of the pipes. He
opened the tap on the bathtub and water hissed and then poured out. The
same for the bathroom sink. Cheers! He turned on the hot tap, and after a
moment, the tub began to be filled with warm water. More Cheers! We raced
to the kitchen and tested the new faucets on that sink. Again, first there
was a rush of air, and then water, both hot and cold. More cheers!

Juan and I pounded Paulo on the back and proclaimed him a master plumber,
while he beamed with pleasure. I walked him to the door and pulled out my
wallet, paying him the agreed upon sum, plus a nice bonus. He protested but
took it gratefully.

We stood outside the door and watched as Paulo drove away into the
evening. I put my arm around Juan's shoulder and drew him up next to me.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Yes, Papa. I am good."

"What did you think of Paulo's story?"

He thought a minute. "I don't know about America. Here, life can be hard,
Papa. People have so little. Sometimes they do bad things. I understand
Paulo's story. I think it is the same as for me. But I think Paulo is a
very good man. He knows about me and he helps me."

We stood outside like that for another few minutes then Juan said softly,
"Before, you tell me that you like me, that you care about me, but you
never say you love me. Tonight, you say you love me. Is that true Papa? Do
you really love me?"

I thought for a moment before I answered. "Yes, Juan. I do love you. I love
you very much. It's hard to explain. I love you as a son, and as a
friend. I love to be with you. You make me feel alive. And I love to make
love to you. I worry about that. Maybe that part is wrong, but I would be
lying if I didn't admit that it's true. Can we be all those things? Can you
be my son and my lover too?"

What was confusing for me, was simple for Juan. He raised his face to smile
at me. When I kissed him on top of his head, he caught my face in his hands
and kissed me full on the mouth, pressing himself against me. "I love you
Papa."

Juan took my hand and led me back into the house. When I followed him in
and closed the door, he turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"Paulo says I am a lucky boy. I know I am very lucky that you find me and
be my Papa. You make me so happy. I want to make you happy too. Don't worry
that I am a young boy and you are older than me. It is a good thing that we
are together. I will make a good son for you. I will work very hard in
school. Please don't worry that we make nice play in the bed. I like it
very much. If you like it too, then that is a good thing. I love you,
Papa."

He hugged me tightly and pressed his face against my chest. I hugged him
back and stoked his back. "You aren't the only one who is lucky. I think I
have been looking for you for my whole life and didn't know it. And don't
worry about your school. Just do the best you can, that's all I can ask of
you. I just want to give you a chance. Everybody deserves a chance. Let's
see how far you can go."

It was getting close to bedtime and we were both tired after the work with
Paulo and the difficult conversation. Juan went into the bathroom and
turned on the taps for water instead of hauling it in from the kitchen. As
the warm water filled the tub, I could hear the pump kick in to refill the
tank on the roof. Paulo was a clever fellow.  I came in with clean towels
and we undressed for our nightly bath.

I got in first and sat against the end of the tub. Juan climbed in and sat
down facing me and draped his legs over mine. The water was hot, and
wonderfully relaxing. Juan took the plastic bowl from beside the tub and
began to scoop up water and pour it over my head and chest. He soaped up a
washcloth and began to scrub me starting from my head and ending between my
toes. Using the bowl he poured water over me again to rinse me off, rubbing
the soapy water away with the palms of his hands. When I was washed to his
satisfaction, he handed me the bowl and leaned back himself. I repeated the
ritual, wetting him with warm water then scrubbing him with the soapy
washcloth. When I was finished rinsing him clean, we slid towards each
other until our balls were touching and sighed with contentment.

I had almost fallen asleep when Juan rose up and got out of the tub. I
watched him as he dried off, rubbing his smooth brown skin until it had a
rosy glow. When he finished he held the towel in his outstretched hands and
smiled at me. I stood up slowly, feeling a little stiff and sore. Juan
dried me off like I was the kid, and led me by the hand into the
bedroom. Pulling back the covers he helped me into bed.

Turning out the light, he crawled in beside me and snuggled up close. I
wrapped my arm around him so his head was pillowed on my shoulder, he
breathed warm air across my chest and hugged me tight. His future was
brighter now, and so was mine.

Another day in Mexico.


The End.


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