Martíneztown, 1945 by Nasario García

Author:Nasario García
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of New Mexico Press

The Man Who Swore a Lot

GRANDMA LALE, MY COUSIN Rita Ruelas, and I were on our way home from the Felipe García’s store when we heard a voice. At first I thought it was Fabiana spewing her nonsense, but it quickly dawned on me that she was dead. It also wasn’t clear which one of the two alleys the voice was coming from, but as we walked, we realized that it was a man’s harsh voice, which grew louder and louder.

As I looked toward the right, I saw this bearded gentleman wearing a squashed hat, tilted to one side. He was leaning up against the wall of Las Chanclas Tavern.

“Look, Grandma! What’s that man doing?” I asked.

“Junie, he’s urinating,” she exclaimed, rather annoyed. “He’s probably drunk,” she added.

While the man took care of business he cursed and insulted those whose steps and voices he heard behind him. You could tell from his vulgar language that he had had more than a few drinks the night before.

“I crap all over every SOB who may be listening or who’s seeing me irrigate this fine wall. No one in this lousy world, in this forsaken neighborhood, takes pity on a drunkard like me. All you drooling idiots are nothing more than a bunch of shameless scoundrels. Spongers, all of you! And if someone doesn’t like what I say let him eat mierda (shit). Or let him stick his finger where it’s convenient (where the sun doesn’t shine) to lower the fever so he can feel better.”

“Come hijitos, my children. Let’s go, quickly. Don’t pay attention to that dirty, filthy pig. Everything he says makes no sense at all; that’s drunks for you. That man is always mouthing off, above all when he’s drunk.”

“Who is he, Grandma? What’s wrong with him? How come he looks so dirty?” Rita asked.

“His name is Tranquilino, the Tank. That’s what he’s called because he drinks a lot. He lost his marbles many years ago.”

“Where did he lose them, Grandma?” I asked innocently, but my grandma barely paid attention to the question. She was more preoccupied by what Rita and I had seen and heard.

“But what happened to the marbles?” I asked once again.

“What? Who? What is it, my child?” Grandma asked, a tad distracted, while paying more attention to Tranquilino’s craziness.

“I asked what happened to his marbles.”

“No, no. That’s not what it means. Look, it has nothing to do with marbles. That’s what we say when someone has lost a nut and a screw.”

“But why do you say that he’s lost a nut and a …?”

“Because Tranquilino has lost his mind. He no longer whistles a pretty tune the way he once did. But look, we’re all a little bit crazy in the head, like an overly wound-up clock. Do you understand?”

I could only scratch my head. I didn’t try to make heads or tails out of Grandma’s string of gobbledygook.

“Is it the same thing as saying he’s got a few loose screws?” Rita asked.

“That’s it, hijita! Now you’ve hit the nail on the head.

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