Ixtlico El Grande Calls

Emilio (Changa), my pastry assistant, has been talking seriously of returning to Mexico.  If he returns, I will miss him.  When I first asked him if he was interested in working with me, in learning pastry, I was unsure of what his answer would be.  Like the other Mexicans, other than a few questions here and there, he did not talk to me.  It was possible he would see it as an insult to work under a woman.  Now, I feel we are friends.  I have been to his home and he to mine, we gone shopping together and shared food.  He has invited me to visit him in Ixtlico El Grande and stay as long as I like.

Yesterday, he asked me why the people here (in the USA) work so hard, so many hours, while in Mexico, life is easier.  This is a question I cannot answer for him fully, and the language barrier makes it even more difficult.  I told him that Mexico is a poor country, where there are so few jobs, the people must leave their homes and come the the USA to find work and good wages.  I told him that the Mexicans who work here send a huge amount of money to Mexico and that if they didn't send this money, Mexico would be even
poorer.  I also told him that his country has huge problems with drug cartels and corruption.  All of this he agreed to.  Yet, I believe he will return anyway.  As illegal border crossing seems very dangerous these days,  he and I have discussed how hard it would be for him to come back, that if he leaves, it will be for good, or a very long time.  He has considered all of this.

To be home, with people who speak his language, accept him and know him, to feel a part of the world surrounding him again after 15 years here; this is what matters now.

Zapatos con Dedos/ The Vibram Five Finger Shoes

Changa had seen one of the college students who works selling the bakery bread and pastries at the farmer's market, wearing Vibram's Five Finger shoes.  The student had come up to the pastry work table to talk to me about how the market sales were going. While we were talking, Changa seemed fascinated by the toe defining shoes; he couldn't take his eyes off of them.  I jokingly asked him if he wanted to buy a pair.  He said he did, which surprised me.  Changa sends most of his money to Mexico to support his father.  Changa shares a 70's era townhouse with 4 other people from his Guerrero village; he spends $200 a month on rent, does not own any type of motorized vehicle and seems to spend his spare time watching television, eating and sleeping.  His clothing is simple and plain.  He spends very little money on himself or on life's little luxuries.  If he wanted to spend $100 on a pair of toe shoes, I assumed he must really want them.

We had to go to REI, an outdoor sports store for the shoes.  I picked Changa up at his house, but I knew I could not go in if he offered, as I would not get out again for what could be hours.  He and his housemates are very hospitable.  They will have me watch television novelas, offer me food and things to drink.  Another time, I would be happy to, but on this Saturday, I only had time to take him for the shoes and return home.  He, of course, asked me to come in, but I told him no, another time.

He seemed lost at REI.  It is a large store full of sports gear, sports clothing and Midwestern people of European descent all speaking English.  The shoes are in the very back of the store.  There were 7 or 8 models of the Five Finger shoes.  He chose a pair geared for runners (no way), with laces.  I asked the sales person for his size, as he cannot speak English.  He had trouble getting his toes into the right places.  I felt the toes on the first attempt; there was a toe compartment without a toe, and one that had two.  We laughed.  He eventually got his toes in the right places, but his feet are wide; they seemed stuffed into the shoe.  We asked for larger size, and after a little easier time getting them on his feet, he walked around (after me insisting) and then shook his head affirmatively.  At the cashier, he handed over a $100 bill and received a nickel in change.

I haven't asked him yet if he likes them.  I haven't seen him wear them to work.  I am sure the other Mexicans would roast him for it, but I would like to see this act of individuality once before he returns to Mexico.

Wenceslao

Wencelslaos' nick name is Gallina, chicken.  He is thin and wiry, with a shaved head and has a tattoo of Jesus Christ's sorrowful face with a crown of thorns on his head, and a tear falling from his eye, on his left arm.  Gallina has an eye for women.  He is on Facebook with an assumed name.  When he recently friend requested me, I looked  over his "friends".  They are almost all scantily clothed women, jutting out their breasts, their asses or both.

He does not have a drivers license, but it can take an hour and a half for him to get to the bakery, so, he illegally drives.  I know he has pulled over at least  twice and both times he has had his vehicle confiscated.  He then saves his money and replaces it with another.  He has been in the USA for 5 years.  He does not speak any English.  Like Changa, he has very little education.

He has been watching and smiling at me since the day I started.  I am old enough to be his mother as I believe he is 22 or 23.  If I return his smiles, he becomes more bold.  He touches my arm or manages to place his had over mine while he helps me with a bread rack.  He told me one day that I needed a lover, like him.  He said we could run away to Mexico, have a couple children.  Mexico has lots of horses.  Did I like horses?

I now try to avoid him, looking at him or being in the break room alone with him.  "Are you angry", he asks.  I do not have the Spanish words to explain to him that he is transparent, a womanizer a man I believe thinks only of himself and his own feelings.  I believe that if one day I was alone in Mexico, surrounded by a gang of murderers and thieves in the middle of the desert, I might look around at their faces.  Perhaps I would spot his,  familiar and smiling.  He would nod to me in recognition, pat me on shoulder, ask me how I was, say "It has been a long time since the days at the bakery.", then kill me without a second thought.

Carne

I recently asked Changa, what in life made him happy.  He replied, eating meat.  This to him is the epitome of the good life.  Once, while in my car on the way to the market, we saw a very large, unhappy looking woman crossing the street.  Changa said, "Ella es muy gorda.".  I said yes, she was and she also seemed very unhappy.  He replied, "Por que? Ella come muchas carne !"

Today while working, I was trying to explain to Changa the concept of vegetarianism, something he does not seem to comprehend.  Why would someone choose to not eat meat, if it were available.  I told him about a friend I had who did not eat meat because she did not want to eat an animals; I said she felt a connection to animals and did not think it right to kill them for food.  He shook his head.  I have been reading about the Spanish conquest of Mexico, most recently, Bernal Diaz's account, The Conquest of New Spain".  There are many accounts of the Aztecs and neighboring tribes killing and eating human captives.  Some speculate that there was not enough wildlife in the basin of Mexico to give a diet of meat to the inhabitants, so they began feasting on enemies they captured during battles.  It was also part of their religious belief, to sacrafice young humans to the Gods.  As I mentioned earlier, Changa has very little education.  I do not know what he was taught and what history of his country he knows.  I told him the Aztecas ate humans for meat.  He immediately replied that Gallina (one of the bakers who is very, very thin) would not be good for eating, but that Bill (very large, who works in the office) would be very good for meat indeed.

Changa

Changa is my pastry assistant.  His real name is Emilo, but many of the Mexican bakers have nick names and Emilo actually prefers to be called by his.  He has this name embroidered on his work shirt, by his choice.  Changa has been in the USA for over 10 years.  He does not speak English and he has no intention to.  He is about 40 years old, single, no children.  He is one of 10 children.  His mother died many years ago, but his father still lives in the puebla of Ixtlico El Grande where Changa lived until he came to the USA.  Changa crossed the border by walking, paying coyotes about $2000 USD to guide him across desert terrain for two days and two nights.  He does not have much education, so when I began to train him to make pastries, fractions were difficult for him to understand.  He also had never used a measuring cup or measuring spoons.

He seems like an asexual being.  I do not see him watching women or men with any sexual interest.  I do not feel any awkward moments when I must press behind him to get to something I need or when he holds my arm to look at a new bruise or burn.  He once told me he wanted to marry and have children, but he seems to have no motivation, or perhaps it is confidence, though he can be very stubborn and sure of some of his beliefs and views.  He told me today that he did not think he would stay here much longer.  He has not been home for many years and he would like to see his father and family again.  The border crossings are seen as too dangerous to try again, so he does not believe he will return.  I do not know if he will really go, as he has said this before, then changed his mind.  I do not know what I believe would be for the best as he has no work in Mexico and has been recently diagnosed with diabetes.