AN UNPREDICTABLE LIFE

     Felix Gonzales was a minor official for the Superindependencia de Administraciones Tribunal, commonly know as S A. T. In other words, he was the tax man.

     He had held the position for twenty years andwas about to retire in December. It was already October, He was of average height, color and mentality, with a degree in accounting from the National University, where he graduated in the middle of the class. As such, he was perfect for his position. He performed his duties according to the dictates of his superiors, whether that be transparent operations or cohort swindle. Such was life, Felix reasoned, it was all quite predictable.

     In December Felix was going to get married, following a ten year engagement. He was going to be fifty in December and she was already forty. They had been together for twenty years and Felix calculated it was now time to start a family. He had purchased a piece of land, in order to build a house for the future clan and the last payment was due in December. He had paid cash, with a loan from a rural cooperative, thus cutting the interest in half, if he would have made a mortgage. The construction would begin in December, when he received the ideminization check, for his twenty years of service. In short, everything was falling into place for Felix Gonzales, who was a predictable fellow.

     Since the pandemic, he had limited his services to the public to half the time. This caused delays and serious problems, especially for the poor peasants, who lived far away. His desk was on the third floor and was regularly sanitized by a female employee, who also checked Felix every hour, with a plastic device, to see if was free from infection. Felix wore two protective face masks, covered by a plastic shield. He also wore plastic gloves. It all loaned the image of a furistic being.

     ¨Please cover your nose with your mask and wash your hands with the liquid on the desk. Do not touch the desk top and spray the papers with that other container, before you hand them to me...¨Felix explained to an older peasant, who remained subservient to his wishes. At that point he received a call from Veronica, who was shopping for the coming event, which would be the culmination of her existence.

¨Si, mi amor. What is it that you need? I am a little busy right now...¨Felix asked with a smile, before it changed to a frown, to the Indian across the desk, as he glanced through his tax expedient. He listened to his future wife a little longer and then informed her...¨You can buy all that for half the price at the Chinese Discount Store. It might not be of the best quality, but we have to stay with the budget. I'm sure you understand. A big hug and a kiss, my darling and thanks for calling,¨Felix concluded, disregarding any opposition on the matter. He was right and that was all there was to it.

     After glancing at the native's paperwork again, he shrugged his shoulders and handed him a slip of paper for another appointment, causing the old man to blanch in disappointment. He then dismissed the rest of the people waiting on wooden benches in the hallway and went to lunch.

     Felix always ate in the same place. It was a little, three table restaurant, which was part of the corner store. The food was not the best, but it was within the budget and he felt it was worth it for the soup alone.

     Now he had to lift the plastic shield and lower two face masks, before he could put the spoon in, but it was necessary and Felix was a practical man. As he ate he considered what kind of a family he should have. The average number of children was two and a half, but since he could not pregender a half, he had to settle for two. Veronica could certainly handle that and the nice thing was she could have them all for free. That was because Felix qualified for the national health program. Of course it would have been better to go to a private hospital, but that would take away the money that was destined for the construction of his new home. He was certain Veronica would understand.

     When Felix returned to his office, he felt what he thought was heart-burn and attributed it to the chile he put in his soup. He would have to watch that in the future.

     October gave way to November and the cold weather set in, in the highlands. Felix had always walked the mile to his office, all year round, but this year he felt it was causing him to experience a shortness of breath. Thus, he decided to drive his car. It was an added expense, but he could always steal a few pesos, from an unsuspecting peasant. It was nothing, compared to the amount of graft that went on, in the higher levels.

     Precisely one week, before all his earthly goals were to be met, he was suddenly awoken by a panic, due to a lack of oxygen. He had never felt this way before and in desperation called the emergency number for the bomberos, which was next to his bed. He could have called the emergency number of the private hospital, which was also there, but the firemen didn't charge anything. They took him to the government hospital, where he was immediately put on a ventilator.

     All his defenses declined quickly and within a week, he lapsed into a coma. On the third of December, the day when Felix was to fulfill his desires, he passed away from the Coved-19 virus. He became number three hundred and thirty four for the number of deaths on that day. It was all quite unpredictable.

    THE MAN THAT COULDN'T DIE

      ¨Look! Here it is! The tusa I've been trying to catch for so long...¨ my handyman, Pepe said, with his face mask hanging from one ear and a genuine grin on his dirty face and a vacant mouth

        ¨What are you going to do with it?¨I asked, observing the comical picture of this little man holding a miserable creature by the tail.

         Pepe, which is a diminutive for Jose in Latin America, stood about five foot tall. He was by no means handsome, but his ugliness was covered with dirt, as though it didn't really matter. He wore equally soiled,mended garments and presented a rumpled existence, from his battered, cowboy hat,  to the worn sandals, that covered his ageless feet. The creature he was holding, is a cousin to the groundhog, with powerful claws that can bring down a tree or an adobe wall. That was the reason that Pepe tracked down the tusa, to protect my humble abode.

          ¨I'm going to eat him. It's very good meat. Something like a rabbit, but more delicious.¨

          ¨I don't think I'd like to taste a tusa, thank you:¨I volunteered, turning my head away.

           ¨It's funny how the old boy kept avoiding my traps. It's like he didn't want to die...Something like that happened to me one time, on the coast. I wanted to die, but I couldn't,¨he confessed, altering his smile to a reflective grimace.

         ¨Sounds interesting Pepe. Why don't you come in and tell me about it. I have some drinks on the patio table. You can leave the tusa here.

         ¨Oh no Don Francisco! The dogs will eat it! I have to take it inside,¨he insisted.

         I imagined there wasn't too much difference between man and beast in this case, so I shook my head and replied:

         ¨OK, you can leave it inside the door and wash your hands in the pila.¨

         He knew where the wash basin was because he had built it, along with the rest of the house.

         We seated ourselves on either side of the table, with several octavos on top. They were filled with eighty percent alcohol. There were also lemons and glasses. I had arranged it before, because I was going to do an article for the online magazine I was writing for. This story sounded more interesting however and it proved to be just that.

        ¨So what's this story about trying to kill yourself Pepe? Why would you want to do such a thing?¨

         ¨Because of love...or really treason!¨he said, snapping off  the metal top and pouring half the octavo in his glass, He squeezed some lemons and then said..¨Salud¨

         ¨Salud ¨I countered and we touched glasses. ¨Sounds like a girl walked out on you. Who was she?¨

         ¨My wife,¨ he confessed, before taking a long swallow and exclaiming,¨Ah! that tastes good....We were on the coast because it was the time of the sugarcane harvest. Before everyone worked there for a few months, so it was nothing new. I had been married for a short time, but we already lost one child. I don't know how it happened, but you know how it is on the coast...the heat, mosquitoes...I don't know.Many people get sick and die.¨

          He said this with a sort of philosophical equilibrium, inherited by the people whom inhabited this place. The survivors of the Maya civilization.

           ¨I'm sorry to hear about that Pepe,¨I said, with sincerity.

           ¨Well, maybe that was the reason my wife became a tramp. She ended up laying with anyone in the camp. I beat her, but she didn't stop, to the point that I wanted to kill myself!¨ he declared, draining the glass and pouring in the rest of the octavo.¨What I did was to go to the field where they sprayed the insecticides. I just lay down there and let the plane fly over me. I turned completely yellow and I was certain I was going to die.¨

           ¨I can imagine Pepe. That sounds pretty desperate, but I guess you weren't successful. What happened?¨

           ¨I went back to the camp and collapsed in my tent. The woman wasn't there of course, but some friends stopped  by and took care of me. They saw what had happened and quickly bathed me and gave me some medicinal herbs to drink, but that wasn't all. They said I had to sweat it out. So, do you know what they did?¨

         ¨I have no idea,¨

         ¨Well, there was a coral with four posts and they told me I had  to run around and kick each post three times. I don't know how I did it but I did until I finally collapsed. They took me back to my tent and this caused a tremendous fever that night. In the morning, I was all right.¨

         ¨Amazing Pepe and what happened to your wife?¨

         ¨I don't know. I never saw her again after that, but some people still remember what happened and they call me...the man who couldn't die!¨he said, raising his glass and nodding his head in tribute to his former misfortune.

         ¨That's an interesting story. ¨I conceded, while I fixed up my own drink and as an afterthought asked him: ¨Do you think you'll survive this new pandemic Pepe?¨

         ¨Definitely!¨he exclaimed, and I believed him

                                      THE MAYA MURDER


           I live in a time and at a place that when I wake up in the morning and open the front door, I half expect to find a dead body there. It could have been a  victim of a drug trafficking deal or simply the result of an intoxicating brawl. The idea is the murder would be blamed on me. Fortunately, this has never happened, but when I read about the murder of Julio Pac Puac and his wife, it were as though their bodies had been thrown on my door step.

            I knew Julio first as an English student and then a collaborator with my linguistic studies, for he was a native K'iche speaker. He stood about five feet tall, dark skinned, with a large nose. He could have stepped out of the Dresden Codex.

           I remembered the trouble he had at the university, where he studied medicine. He kept failing courses and repeating the year so many times that he finally gave up and disappeared. It was by chance that I met some of his neighbors from his village and they informed me to the degree that I imagine his end was wrought like this...

          ¨Maybe I'll have a chance to attend a few patience at the clinic before we eat supper,¨  Julio suggested to his wife, as he turned on the headlights to his new Toyota.

            ¨I think you work too hard Julio,¨ his wife complained, with feigned sincerity.

            ¨Yes, but I am well rewarded for my efforts,¨he replied, unable to conceal a smile, as he felt the pleasure of such a beautiful machine, under his control.

           It was never conceived before that someone from his family linage and race, could have achieved such economic prowess. He not only had this new car, but a modern, brick house, a medical clinic and money in the bank. One could not ask for more and yet...

          ¨Ingrid wants us to go live in Switzerland for a while...¨Julio confessed as they traveled down the macadam road. that led to his village. They were returning from their monthly shopping at the main town of the department, which was still quite provincial.

          ¨But why would she want that? You are doing such  a good job here and the people love you...¨

          ¨Maybe not everybody.¨

          ¨What do you mean?¨

           ¨Ingrid believes some people know about the human transplants, that are being carried on with the help of my clinic.¨

           ¨How? A lot of your patients have returned cured after sending them to Switzerland and those that didn't return because they died of complications there, were always well compensated with money.¨

          ¨Those are the ones she's worried about.¨

          ¨Ingrid doesn't know about the life here. She doesn't understand that because you are part of these people, in language and custom, they would never believe that you would betray them.¨

           ¨Any way we would live very well there and I will have a chance to study at a German University. That's where the NGO is based and I already speak a little German. Then finally the idiots at the university here, will know that an Indian can be a doctor too!¨he pronounced with bitterness to which there was no consonance, for the idea was buried deep in his being. These thoughts accompanied them, down an untraveled road, surrounded by darkness.

                                         ******************

             A battered, well worn pick-up remained visible, a distance up then hill from the village. Two men were seated inside, armed with automatic weapons.

            ¨He will be coming along this way soon, along with his wife,¨the man at the wheel said, as he slipped down further in his seat and adjusted the woolen scarf around his neck. 

            ¨Must we kill her too?¨the other asked with lingering uncertainty.

            ¨They both know what they're doing, so they must die together,¨the first man said, who had lost a daughter at Julio's clinic. She experienced physical complications after her last child birth and they told him she must be operated on in Switzerland. She never returned. They said she had died on the operating table. They gave him money for his loss, but then he was informed from a Mexican friend, that they were part of an international organization that trafficked in selling human organs. He even showed the prices they charged over the internet. This knowledge was shared with the village elders, who pronounced that the verdict should be death. He had volunteered to carry out the mission.

           ¨It is difficult for me to understand why a man, who is one of us, would do such a thing,¨ the other man said, breaking the malignant silence his friend was experiencing.

          ¨It is greed.  Greed and pride. Look at the nice house he has, the clothes he wears and his new car! Therein lies the greed. The pride comes from the fact that he pretends to be a doctor. But he never graduated from the university. He calls his clinic ¨Angel from Heaven¨ but  he is really a devil who must be eliminated.¨ he rasped with bile. ¨They will see my pick-up in the middle of the road and think I have broken down. that will stop him and when he gets out to investigate, I will kill him. You hurry to the other side and kill the woman,¨ were his instructions.

                                           [****************

             ¨How long do you think we'll have to,live in Germany Julio?¨

             ¨A few years, but I would prefer a lifetime! I mean everything is modern there, not like our primitive country. Once you learn the language, you'll be very happy there. I guarantee you!¨ Julio proclaimed. with mounting enthusiasm.

             Presently he  noticed a pick-up stranded in the middle of the road.  He slowed down and when he approached it he identified the vehicle as belonging to a man whose daughter he had transferred to Switzerland to be operated on. He recalled she never returned. But the fellow had been handsomely compensated and they had remained on good terms, Julio knew and decided it would be good to lend him a hand.  He kept the lights on as he saw two men approaching.  He started to get out of the car, before he realized the men were armed. It was much too late for Julio Pac Puac, who answered to the call of justice...this time.

                   UNEMPLOYED IN THE CEMETERY


       Pedro Petz worked in the city cemetery, like his father did and grandfather before him. It was an inherited position and was secure, since everyone had to die. Besides that, Pedro was an Indian, so it was hard for him to get employment, since he was on the last wrung of the status quo of his country. On the top sat those with Spanish blood, for it seemed the conquistadores never left.

       Pedro was one of the workers who tended the grounds around the numerous graves. He never went to school, but what the learned there was a worthy education. For instance, in the entrance were the mausoleums. There were sculptures made by Italians, who were imported to do the work. These belonged to the very wealthy, mostly of Spanish linage. The one exception was dedicated to a gypsie named Sasha, who committed suicide when her Spanish beau returned to Spain to marry into royalty. There was an effigy of her on the tomb and a belief that she would give you good fortune in romance, if you asked her. The youths wrote messages of supplication on her image. Pedro saw all this and noted that sometimes their wishes were answered.

       There was one part of the cemetery where there was a Christmas image on all the graves. It was a six point star, just like the ones they used in the processions for the Christmas celebrations.

     In another section there was another symbol on some of the graves. It was a strange combination of to angles joined in opposite directions. It left a foreboding feeling for Pedro. The area was rimed with trees that gave a remorse shade, for they never turned green. He did not know what a swastika was, nor was he aware there had been a world war.

       Pedro learned that the extreme poor were not laid under the earth. They were put in niches above the ground, that the city had built. There they would rest, in simple boxes for so many years. He never found out  how long that period was, nor what happened to the coffins after that. He never asked but realized that if you were very poor you could not go back to the earth you came from. You had to wait your turn for that.

      If you were not desperately poor you could afford to purchase a plot of earth for the displacement. It was six foot down and had a wooden cross to mark its location. Later, those who were able to improve their economic situations, covered the cement graves with tile or even artificial marble. If finances would permit, they might build a little ch apple at the head, over the tomb stone.

       For these improvements, the caretaker received a pittance, which most of them used to buy home made liquor, to lift their spirits. That was because to live with the dead left you with nothing less than a morbid cognizance that, within time, you would occupy the same space below. Therefore, the liquor helped to soften that reality.

       There was no such a thing as cremation. It was not practiced, nor was it the custom of Pedro's Maya predecessors.

        As such Pedro Petz passes his days and years, which was supposed to go on until the end, in the tradition of his ancestors. Then, something completely unexpected happened.

       The cemetery caretakers were informed that  new virus had arrived at his impoverished country. It came from somewhere called China and that there would be thousands and perhaps millions of deaths because of it. At first Pedro thought that would create more work for everyone, which was a logical assumption. But, that didn't happen and the city officials decided to close the cemetery. The arrangement was based on the scientific speculation that the virus traveled in open spaces, filled with people, who carried the disease from unknown places.

       At least that was the way that Pedro understood it, as he walked through the iron gates, now unemployed in the cemetery.


     

                                        THE SCIENTIFIC REPTILE


                   ' When Pasteur discovered that the fermentation is a process of life rather than death and that life does not create spontaneously,  he did not know he was preparing himself to understand the diseases in animals and men, result from microorganisms within the host....' Profesor Goldman related to the members of the closed session of independent, liberated scientists, who had gathered to foment possibilities toward a panacea for all bacterial plagues, including the current virus, which was causing epidemic proportions on a global level.

                  ' In other words professor, the present bacterial virus could have evolved from a previous experiment in creating the same thing...' Dr. Dawson mentioned, as though giving voice to his thoughts, rather than posing a question.

                ' The error of probability remains in that theater of thought,' professor Goldman replied, to which the others shared a unanimous concordance determined through not only scientific experiment, rather historical repetition of similar plagues.

                 ' Then the real question here rests not so much under mathematical solutions, although that is paramount, but it seems to lead to the possibility that it was humanly created. If that is so, then the reason must be explained.' Dr Lee presented verbally, what the rest determined by sifting mental priorities, without a voice.

                ' I think we all agree that there is enough  evidence to claim it was humanly created,' Dr Shaw stated, while all heads nodded in wordless concession,' and further that it began in China, so it would be logical that it was created there. Using that as a tentative base, can anyone offer a reason why?'

                 ' All wars are based on economics, Professor Garcia declared, ' and in this case, it was a reaction to the western world and in particular the United States' domination over the world economies because of the dollar. It is known that China wanted to create its own economic center, using the Chinese currency, for the Far East. This would eliminate the dollar threat and perhaps make the United States a second class trading partner. That might be the reason, to create the virus.'

                 Dr Ilich, who was the oldest one present, at seventy five, smiled to himself before saying..'Napoleon said..Don't wake the sleeping dragon..but now that it's fully awake, it is aware of the same thing, while content that it cannot be proven. It is sufficiently pleased that the western world has suffered enormous economic setbacks. I wonder if any of this will ever be exposed?' he asked and  pregnant silence ensued.

                   ' It is already exposed, which is part of the reason we have met here,' Dr Goldman volunteered.

                  ' In order to dictate a sentence of annihilation, for the ofender, coupled with a rapid reaction from the other side,' Dr Brandt enunciated, while an impenetrable silence inferred concurrence. ' Then it has all been worked out scientifically and is well known to those who need to know. We will survive, but the planet will be a different place in a different time. This much we know, following that....exactly why are we here Dr Goldman? Do we stand a chance of survival as a human species?'

                    The answer was not immediate nor spontaneous, for Dr Goldman was composed of weighty wisdom. When he did speak, it was to no one in particular, which was understood as verbal contemplation. His tone was equally separate from a mundane treble, as he began...

                     ' Unless we are merged with some kind of mutation, I believe we will remain in our reptilian and savage way. In a sense, we are gripped by instinct for survival and competition. It has made our species constructive as well as destructive and this destroys us and our planet. We are still basically the same element we were forty thousands years ago, when Cro-Magnon displaced the Neanderthal...and so, in our quest for survival, we have fostered a greed, like something so vile, as to resemble a human beast!' he said, almost without taking a breath, while they all knew it was impossible to add to or take away from what Dr Goldman had said, After a time, one of them asked...
                   '' What can we do Dr Goldman?'
                 
                  ' Wait...even this will pass.'

                                THE BATTLE OF ORLEANS

                   So here we was see, me, Tommy the Irishman, and my pal, Nick the Greek, see. He did his high power, undergraduate work, in Chicago, while I studied under the greats at Al's pool room, in Pittsburgh.

                   So there we was, see, doing some time at the Cape, when the women folk asked: ¨What are we going to do tonight. How about trivial pursuit?¨  So I said I was not interested in answering who Supie Sales was and tried to cajole Nick into finding a pool table on this Mass retreat. ¨Nah,¨ he said, ¨Come on Tommy, what are you talking about? You don't want to shoot pool with me. I mean I'm talking about pool!¨  ¨So am I Nick! So am I!¨ I said, and after a few more vodkas, we decide to see if this tight ass, Harvard accented peninsula had a place for such an ungentlemanly sport like pool.

                    Well, we piled into his Rabbit and braced ourselves for the night traffic in Eastham.

                    ¨Let's try that place,¨he said, spying a miniature golf, video game joint, off to the right.

                     He pulled in, maybe over the curb and that, but heh, we was lookin ta play pool.

                     ¨No sir,¨the nurd behind the counter said, as thought I was coming from anther planet, or at least another generation,¨we don't have a pool table here,¨and then ¨No sir I don't know if there is a place on the Cape that has a table.¨

                     ¨No luck,¨I reported, but we was determined and the next place where I suggested we try, was a small shopping area. There a guy, who was eating soft ice cream, said:

                      ¨Yeah, you're looking for a pool table. There's one in Orleans, near the gas station, in that bar there.¨ and I was off, cause I knew we scored this time, and when I told Nick, he remembered the place too.

                         So there he was see jut a little package about six foot three, and maybe two twenty or so. And there I was, Little Tommy, who although not six feet, could pump iron with the best of em, back in my day. But heh, we was just looking for a friendly game, and when we entered the joint, we was gravitated to the green felt at the other side of the room.

                          ¨Sorry, you can't use the pool table until nine thirty,¨a guy from behind the bar said,and by my watch we was right on time. But heh, it was only a gentleman's game, so we waited.

                           We nursed a couple a bruskies, se until we could put that thirty five cents in and start to play some serious pool. So up comes our turn see, and it didn't last long until we was putting in another thirty five. Now by this time the room starts ta get a little tense, see. they was watching a couple a guys who maybe weren't doctors, in the art, but it started to look like we had some credits toward our master's degrees. It got so thick at one point, that the same guy comes out from behind the bar and says:

                           ¨Heh, I don't want no trouble here...Got it?¨

                           ¨Yeah, we got it. Just a friendly game, see,¨ I says, ¨between a couple a gentlemen, see¨so the bum goes back ta pumpin suds.

                           But then something happened. cause this group a guys start putting their names on this here blackboard, see, wanting to get a piece a the action, see, and little did we know we was about ta make history, or at least carrying on with the illustrious tradition of keepin Harinas Port on the map.

                           Well, there was this thing about being hot. see. Like I couldn't miss, and this was startin ta piss off the other young punk, so I figured he must a been Irish, with a temper like that, but when I asked him, he got more pissed off, see, and says he was American and that was that, ¨Sure,¨ I says, Ï'm American too,¨ and all that, ¨but I'm also Irish, see, and I was just wonderin if you was Irish too?¨ So he finally admits that he was of Irish descent, and all that, right, but then he goes into this big deal about his ole man, who did a lot of traveling and told him that America was the best place in the world, see, and that he should be proud of it,and like that. So, I tells him that I agrees with all that, but not because somebody told me, but because I've been livin most of my life outside of the States, and the last fourteen years in Central America, and you think I was tellin him I was a friggin Commie or something. So, then, when I'd miss a shot or something, I'd start swearing in Spanish, which was my custom. Well, it weren't a bad thing, cause since there was ladies present, and this way they wouldn't know what I was sayin. Heh, they might have even thought that I was receitin some beautiful line from Cervantes or Lope de Vega or even Garcia Lora for Christ's sake! the words are: ¨Hijo de puta!¨ or just ¨Puta!¨ which means, ¨Son of a whore,¨or just plain ¨whore,¨ and that really ain't bad, when you think about the flowery language in that department today. But the whole thing is gettin to him, and finally his turn comes up. Jesus! You'd think it was a grudge match between two Irishmen, or a fight between communism and freedom. Heh, you gotta remember my side of it. I had agreed with the bum, and when  you got my Irish up, I was poetry, songs or close friendship. But, there he was, taking his time on every shot, and making a couple of them too, butt the man just wasn't at peace with himself, so he just had to miss.    

                          ¨So, what do I got?¨ I asked him, staggering around the table, as I took another sip of my beer, ¨The little or the big?¨

                          Now this got him even mor irate, cause he thought that I didn't see all that fancy shooting he was doing, but what got him more is the fact that I beat him. Did it real clean like too. Straight pool it was, and a real tribute back to Al's in Pittsburgh. But my friend there, all he could say was,¨Puta!¨

                         So, things went on like that see. They was all wooden Indians. Nah, sittin ducks they was, and they all went down, one after another. This is what happened until I came to another guy called Nick. He was the nicest guy in the joint and had the best stick too, so I didn't mind too much, when my luck ran out, and I scratched on the eight ball.   

                         But, heh, then it was Nick the Greek's turn, and when he started, I was just happy to say I knew the bum! I'm talkin about pool! Combinations and things, until the other Nick wen down like a trooper. He even shook hands, but now the board was filled up with names, cause they just wanted a chance to get a piece a the action called Nick the Greek!

                         So games they had, and from the beginning, it was all over but the cryin. But you should a seen the array of weirdos they had.

                        There was this little fag from P-town or something and he had put his name down on the board before, but somebody had erased it, and the guy was fit to be tied. He probably would have looked great in a nice, white straight jacket, but I was feeling sympathy, and so i tells him like this see:  

                        ¨Heh, I know you put your name up on that board, cause I saw you do it, but heh! I'll just tell Nick there he's got ta beat you too. How's that?¨

                         ¨Fuck you!¨he says, ¨All I want is a chance to shoot pool with this guy,¨ so I took that as an unfriendly gesture and went back to my bruskie.

                          ¨So, I was feelin good and enjoin the hell out f a game that Nick was shootin, with a kid that looked meaner than hell. He had on a sleeveless, black t-shirt; black, skin tight, sleazy pants, which he held up with a spiked belt. You could see why he didn't want sleeves on the T-shirt, cause both his arms were all decked out in tattoos. He went down hard, cause he had a good stick, and probably if it hadn't been Nick there shootin, I'd a given him half a chance. But things bein as they were, my man was not about to loose that night. No way!

                           Then the P-town fag comes in, and boy this little guy, in the clean white shirt's got blood in  his eyes. This man proceded to shoot a serious game. Now, what would a fag like this be doin shootin pool lie that? But then Nick got his turn, and the fag was turnin greener than the felt they was playin on. Nick proceeded to dazzle him with so many combinations, that his head began to swim.

                           He went down too, and by and by that was all she wrote. Every last one of them bit the dust. Things were startin to change though, cause now everyone wanted to buy us a beer, but we wouldn't have none of it, see. One guy even comes up to me and says: Ï got it. You two are hustlers! You started off taking on the first few, because your buddy lost to you in the beginning. Then you set him up to wipe out the house. Right?¨

                           ¨Heh, what are you talkin about? Do you see any money on the table? It was a gentleman's game; all right?¨ I says, and none too soon, cause Nick finally scratches on the eight ball and calls over:

                            ¨Heh Tommy, let's blow this joint!¨so I take the hint, and the two of us get out fast like, with all these faces of hate and envy following us. But, we're not runnin, see, cause we didn't break no laws, and neither of us says a word to the other, until we get in the car and we are out of there.

                            ¨Well Tommy,¨Nick says ta me, matter a fact like, ¨you know we made history in there tonight.¨

                             Ï couldn't believe it, the way you were on tonight!¨

                             ¨Yeah, I never shot a game like that in my life, and maybe I never will again.¨

                             ¨Damn Nick!¨I says, ¨This is a story all right, but what are we going to call it?¨

                              ¨The Battle of Orleans,¨he says, ¨We didn't shoot until we saw the white's of their eyes!¨

 

                    

                                 ES CÍCLICO LA VIDA?


                    Cuando pregunte a mi amigo porque se caso tres veces, me dijo..."Es cíclico!"

                    Después de la carcajada, me quede pensando que ta vez tenia razón. La vida era en muchos de sus aspectos, cíclico. Solo con el clima atestigüemos que hay tiempo para sembrar y tiempo para cosechar.

                     Todos los días en todos los idiomas, se habla de...Calentamiento Global...Cambio Climático...o una especia parecido. Se hecha la culpa a todo...contaminación con la energía fósil; deforestation, deshechos en los aguas duces...y el raíz de de todo esto es el capitalismo!

                      Obviamente estoy de acuerdo con todo eso, pero sin capitalismo, no podemos tener ropa fabricada; ni papel, ni tinta para escribir esto. Sin embargo no quiere meterme en asuntos económicos aquí. Mi propósito es examinar los ciclos de la vida.

                      Un ejemplo que viene a la mente, es cuando Josef  se fue con el Faraón para interpretar su sueno de: siente anos productivos y siete anos de mal cosecha. Por supuesto Josef dijo que fue Dios que le dio el mensaje al Faraón, y si fuera hoy día, tal vez pudiera agregar que fue debido al Cambio Climático?

                      La misma cosa pudiera haber existido con la civilización Maya. Muchos preguntan: Que paso con la civilización Maya?...Podría una contestar: El Calentamiento Global ?...Quien va a decir que esto no es cíclico?

                       Bien.El clima es cíclico, formando un patron que se puede identificar por periodos de corto y largo plaza, pero: se puede identificar la grandeza y decadencia de una civilización igual?

                        Parece que la historia se inclina hacia esa conclusion y seria interesante hacer unas comparaciones aquí.

                        En el principio la civilization Griega, con su centro en Atenas, las mujeres cubrieron sus cuerpos cuando se fueron a la playa. En dejar visto su tobillo, fue considerado indecente. Muchos anos después cuando los Persas llegaron para conquistarlo, las mujeres se acostumbraron andar desnudos en las playas. La misma civilización, con ciclos diferentes.

                        Vi algunos fotos de la gente en la playa de los Estados Unidos en el principio del siglo veinte. Todos estaban vestidos bien modestas con respecto a sus trajes de bano. Hoy día, si uno va a la playa en California, se cree que la prenda no fue inventado todavía....Un lapso de mas de un siglo...Un ciclo de tiempo?

                       Con respecto a la economía, podemos ver un cambio incalculable con el Imperio Romano. Según la leyenda, Roma fue fundado por dos huérfanos, quienes ni tenia la oportunidad de chupar leche de una mujer, sino de una bestia! Pobreza extrema, pero después de este principio miserable, el imperio fue tan poderosa que todos los países en el mundo mandaron tributos al Imperio Romano.  Su población fue creado por bandidos y gente infelices, pero a través de los siglos se convirtieron en los mas destacados poetas; oradores, politicos y artistas de todos los tiempos. Todo esto tardo siglos o ciclos marcado con subidas y bajadas.

                      Una idea paralelo se puede notar con los Estados Unidos. Su población original fue compuesto con prisioneros de Inglaterra, o gente con otra religion. Incluso a los que fueron condenados a la muerte, pudieron escoger ser mandado a la colonia inglesa en el nuevo mundo. La economía de la colonia fue un fracaso, porque Inglaterra solo quería ganar, sin invertir y sus paisanos despreciados, los sacaron, para hacer su propio país. De un principio polémico, el país salio para calificar como la economía mas poderoso del mundo hoy. Los anos forman pruebas por ciclos marcados.

                       Siempre había guerra. Parece que el hombre no puede existir sin esto, y va por ciclos. En Europa tenia una guerra que tardo cien anos. Pasaron siglos hasta que toco la Primera Guerra Mundial. Veinte anos después estallo la segunda Guerra Mundial. Ahora estamos setecientos anos mas tarde, haciendo un ciclo largo. A la vez el negocio de los armamentos es lo mas rentable en el mundo. Tiene esto una apariencia peligroso? Yo creo que si, pero vamos a ver que destino tiene este ciclo.