UNA CARIDAD

                                                              UNA CARIDAD

     Giovani Fellini was not always a panhandler. In fact, he once led a rather splendid life in New York City, thanks to the Brotherhood. sometimes called Cosa Nostra or simply the Mafia. I met him while I was doing some business in a Central American Banana Republic. It was then that he told me his story, quite openly, over a bottle of chianti.

    "The truth is I led a fantastic life after I left Palermo, Sicilia. I was seventeen years old and I had some relatives in New York, who were connected and I used them to the best of my ability.," Giovani acknowledged, with an askance glance, which indicated that was something to think about..."Of course I was a very capable fellow and knew how to take care of business, when that had to be done. Sometimes people just don't understand what is required of them...so that has to be taken care of. I was very good of taking care of that. It was a kind of social adjustment, you might call it, " he continued, in an abstract manner, as though placing a smoke screen over the fact that he was a hit man..." and since I proved myself of great worth, I was given economic dividends. I mean I lived a luxurious life. I lived in the best apartments and wore tailored clothes. I drove expensive cars and had the most beautiful women, " he continued licking his thick lips, after a healthy sip of the wine..." I even wore a thousand dollar fedora...can you imagine that? A thousand dollar fedora!" he exclaimed, laughing at the idea of having paid so much for a hat..." How did you have all that and then lose it?" I asked without  reservation, to which Giovani bowed his head and then looked up at the sky for deliverance. He continued his discourse promptly, explaining the philosophical truth of the matter..." Well, you see success creates jealousies and I acquired a reputation of being the most able to plot and carry out the  complicated operations, if you know what I mean. So, one thing led to another and I started to feel the heat from both sides. I mean the law and the mob at the same time, so I decided it was time to find a different place to conduct myself and that was how I found myself in this Banana Republic. It was all right for a while. because you were allowed to kill five people and get away with it here, but after that, you had to face some kind of justice. It just so happened that I became so famous, that I made the top ten most wanted list, so the Interpol picked me up, and threw me out of the country. Now, I couldn't go back to New York and I really kind of liked it here, since it was a kind of live and let live place, so i began to try to figure out how to get back. I considered several different angles and decided  the best one was to die and be buried here. So, I bought a casket, filled it with rocks and brought it back across the border. I was buried with the register of my name and that was that. I still had to keep a low profile and I also had to eat. That's how I got into panhandling. It's really not so bad. You have to dress yourself for the part and do some theatrical work for a few hours a day and that's about it. The people give because they think they'll go to heaven or something and it's especially profitable during the holidays and there are a lot here. They're mostly religious holidays, so it all works out." he explained, as he stuck out his hat for some change and then crossed himself like a holy beggar...I shook my head in  disbelief of how a man could have so much and then be brought so low, with apparent indifference. He stuck out his hat again and it was at that moment I noticed that it was of good quality and only looked dirty, like a theatrical prop. It was then I realized it was his thousand dollar fedora!..."Una Caridad...Una Caridad...

 Si me pregunta

¿Porque escribe?

Lo escribo

Si escribo

No es porque

Me pregunta

Sino porque

Me hace falta

La respuesta

De que

¿Porque escribe?

De lo que

No se ve

Es el mas

Brillante

De lo que

No se habla

Piensa mejor

Lo que era antes

Ahora es

Vapor

 Un saludo

En la calle

La milpa verde

En el aire

El sol pretende

De aparecer

A traves

De la neblima

Momentos inovidables

Olvidado

Para siempre

 No muy lejos

De maravillas

La mañana

Promete

Otro dia

 I cling

To visions

In a

Sultry light

Which marks

No division

Between day

Or night

And absent

As a thought

Dismissed

I wait

With sleep

Before 

My eyes

                                  THE MAN WHO KILLED THE BISHOP

        Coronel Batres was the only member of the military junta, who did not go to the polytechnic. He went up through the ranks, in a brutal fashion, which earned him the nickname the beast.

   He was only a sergeant, when he cornered the guerrilla leader, in a mountain top village, where he killed and later decapitated him. He then carried the head on a pole through the Indian villages, as a warning to anyone who chose to defy the government. He was awarded a battlefield lieutenant, and progressed through the ranks accordingly.

    It took him a decade to reach the rank of colonel, and by that time the guerrilla fighting had been debilitated to nothing. They lacked the military and financial support, which the government received from its ally in the north. Thus, the republic prospered. with skyscrapers, shopping malls and fast food restaurants. The military leaders enjoyed the perennial graft, and became fat and lazy, while the population languished in abject poverty.

    Then,, out of nowhere, came the unexpected opposition of the Catholic Church. It began in the pulpits, with the indignation of the inhuman treatment of the illiterate masses. International human rights organizations joined the fray, and the military leaders were censored by their United States patrons. The quandary was finally capitalized, when the bishop proclaimed that the military government should be displaced by a freely elected civilian one. This was the straw that broke the camels back. The bishop had to be eliminated: but how and by whom? There were meetings and intelligent recommendations, until it was decided that Colonel Batres had to kill the bishop. He would be the scapegoat He would be tried and sent to prison. The world would then be pacified and of course Uncle Sam.

    The prison would be a paradise and the colonel would be separated from the other inmates. He would be treated in a luxurious style, with the best of food, liquors and prostitutes. Colonel Batres agreed and carried out his mission accordingly. His life behind bars took on an unimaginable existence, the likes of which he had never known on the outside. If this were suffering, he enjoyed it immensely.

    The other prisoners disliked this treatment, so the colonel had to pass on some favors to a group who would act as bodyguards and protect him. There were others, however, who felt a spiritual rancor for what he did. The fact that he had murdered a Catholic Bishop, disturbed their religious superstition. They considered the man he killed to be in the place of God. That was the way the Catholic Church had defined it. This idea gathered strength, until they finally got together and decided the colonel had to be reckoned with. It was a kind of honorable justice among thieves.

    The inmates formed a committee and summoned Louis, the colonel's confident man, and informed him the following:

     "Louis, you must kill Colonel Batres," Armando, who had poisoned his wife and her lover told him.

     "But that's like killing the hen who laid the golden eggs!" Louis protested, "The colonel has been so good to me and I'm sure he could give you the same favors if I asked him to."

    "He must be killed Louis," Jose, who was sentenced to life for murder, affirmed.

    "Bur why?" Louis demanded.

    "Because he killed the bishop, who was the closest man to God, according to the Catholic Church." Rafael, the thief, informed him.

    "But I don't think God would  mind if he let the colonel give out some gifts to us...like money, liquor and women!"

    "Unless you want to join him, you must poison him Louis." Armando concluded, what the others had agreed upon.

    So, Louis put poison in his liquor, and at first the colonel complained of a stomach ache. Then he began to go blind, until he finally gave up the ghost, in a painful fashion. After that the prisoners came and cut off his head. They used it as a soccer ball, kicking it around on the prison soccer field. The authorities did not miss the colonel for a few days and  wondered what had had happened to him. It remained a mystery, until one day a guard noticed a strange ball that the prisoners were kicking around. He took another guard with him and they both gasped in disbelief, when they saw it was a head.

    "My God! That's the man who killed the bishop!"