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.