Chapter 22: San Felipe

As it was getting later on in Spring, I started going more and more to San Felipe. I would go early in the day, check my email, buy a delicious torta in the torta store in the corner of town, do whatever errands I had to do that day, and wait for Adalid to arrive. I don’t completely recall if it was really to kill time, or if I really enjoyed it there. Regardless, one day I ended up at the high school and told them that I would be willing to help teach English there. I met the English teacher (a very nice lady), we chatted (she knew quite a bit of English for what I expected), and I was brought around to ALL the classrooms in the school to be introduced. I instantly knew that this was going to get me in trouble, as they now all knew me, and I was expected to remember all 400 of them.

I was told that I was invited to come to sit in on any class during the day that I wanted – the only thing they could offer me in return for my services was the opportunity to learn more Spanish by sitting in on, for example, high school economics – and then taught an after school English class that really bombed from the first day. There were no requirements for being in my class, no minimum standard or anything, so kids who knew not a word of English were mixed with kids who had lived years in the US. The worst was that I couldn’t even bail because the word on the street that English was being offered got out and kids would come in, we would play games that were either way too easy or way too advanced for them, and the turnover rate ended up being incredible. Like basically a new class every week. And those that stayed completely frustrated.

But by this wandering around and hanging out in town, I started to get to know some people. The guy at the torta shop asked me if I’d give him classes. He was a pretty quiet, serious guy, but I had time before my class at school, so I started giving him class.

Marco is a very sharp, straightforward kid. It took a while to get even a smile out of him, and he liked to wax philosophical on different subjects, many of which he knew nothing about. A lot of it turned to theory of things that I had facts for, but was unsure of how to go about telling him he was wrong. It turned out he was about 8 months older than me, the youngest of four kids. His girlfriend was quiet, nice, and very polite. She always kept working as we had class. Shorter and very white for a Mexican, Marco’s parents lived poorly in a very old house that they probably could have sold and made a lot of money off of. Actually, the position of the torta shop, along with the tienda just around the corner that his two brothers owned and operated, were prime territory, probably the highest property value in the city.

Soon he opened up, we starting laughing and talking about common interests, and I met his family and friends, their family and friends, and a huge network of people opened up for me. I still had to be home by 7 or 8 (after daylight savings), because the walk up to Las Rosas in the dark was brutal, and there were no taxis or buses after dark, so I never got to go to any family parties or anything, even though I was often invited.

This was an interesting time in my life because I was suddenly meeting people from all walks of life, and involved in so many conversations about countless subjects. The real characters were Marco’s two brothers, Gabi and Chucho, and Marco’s friends Chava, Chaparro, Chicote, and El Maestro. The two brothers were very large men, maybe 25 or 30 with a couple kids each. Very serious men. Whatever they did, they did it with complete conviction. They worked everyday, open at 9 and closed at 11, seven days a week, 365 days a year. They wouldn’t take one day off. Each had very serious life goals of building houses and new businesses and they were set out on paper and achieved each in their own time. Tuesday night drinking was a VERY serious matter and I was only let off because I explained my situation.

Chaparro was a typical Mexican build with the Mariachi gut and typical Mexican style with cowboy hat and boots. It was funny to me that he fit in the group. But he did. He loved his mother and the Virgin and spicy food and tequila. He was a violent drunk they told me, something I vowed never to see. Chaparro was well know for failing at everything. He had been in every type of business there was in town, and had always got tired of not getting instantly rich, and looked for something else. He currently had about a dozen video game machines that he was trying to expand into a larger business (he never would).

Chava was a totally different type. A stereotype of the developing middle class Mexican. A kid of a rich family, he had his own car and was always in school for the lack of a real opportunity to work. His parents just figured that if he got enough degrees, someone had to give him a good job. He had an easy life, an allowance, freedom to do as he pleased. They constantly mocked him for his liberal ways and his love of the strip clubs. He had a nice girlfriend and always cheated on her.

Chicote loves America. That is the one striking feature about him. He is short and skinny, talks fast and with a lot of motion. He talks almost constantly about his two year experience of working in LA. Always saying how it was in the states, how it is different there, how the people are different, what Chicanos are like and how they are different from Mexicans, whatever you can possibly imagine that there is to say about the US, he has said it. Every time I see him, someone tells him to shut up. I laughed every time he wanted to talk about the “ook-la” because in Spanish you always say your acronyms and never the letters (he meant UCLA). He was there maybe a year before he returned to the US, never to come back to Mexico again.

El Maestro was a crack up. He was tall and skinny and had this bright red “Toluca Red Devils” coat that he never took off. He was a teacher at the middle school, a lazy teacher at that, and lived from day to day. He was conservative and never liked to do anything that would take up too much time. I have no idea what he did that he didn’t want to waste time hanging out for, but he was always on the move. He had sayings that would make everyone within hearing distance fall over laughing.

Soon they each had gotten to know me and always called me over to chat when they saw me in town. After a while working at the high school, I saw them altogether one day out on the curb in front of Gabi and Victor’s store. They had a bottle of tequila between them. They called me over. The first question I was asked was this:

Gabi: Could you possibly marry a woman that isn’t a virgin?

I answered slowly: Umm, yes. Yes. I mean it depends. I mean like is her heart virgin? I mean, if she is a woman running around with guys and then wants to marry me, I couldn’t do that. But I wouldn’t date a woman like that anyway. If a woman had made a mistake or two and had repented of that and assured me I was the only man for her, I would trust her, yes. And it wouldn’t make a difference that she had had sex before. Her past has nothing to do with me. I can’t change that anymore.

Chaparro: But you can never really know, of course. Until you see it. You can’t trust a woman one hundred percent because you never know what she actually is doing. I know what time my wife should be home. I know what she does all day. If she strays from that routine, something is going on and I am going to find out what.

Me: I don’t know. I guess I feel I can trust Adalid completely. She is a big girl. She knows the consequences to her actions. It certainly isn’t worth it for me to mess around with another girl because I love Adalid so much. If I actually risked that for one stupid fling, even if I didn’t get caught, it just wouldn’t be worth it. I am pretty sure she is the same way.

Chaparro: That’s crazy, my friend. She wants you to feel jealous, and will do things to make you react. If you don’t react, she will just keep pushing it. That’s how it is.

Me: No, what’s crazy is you guys who feel that you can sleep with all the women you want but that your wife should be a virgin. How is this possible? Can you do the math? Do you all really honestly think that all your wives were virgins when they met you?

Chaparro: If I found out a guy had slept with my wife before we got married, I would kill him. That simple.

Me: But YOU slept with women before you got married. Are their husbands coming to kill you?

Chaparro: No, because I would never say anything to anyone. And I know she wouldn’t say anything either.

Me: So you think your ex-girlfriends have an obligation to you over their husbands to be dishonest, but your wife has the obligation to you over her ex-boyfriends to be honest. This just doesn’t make any sense.

Gabi: A woman wants you to be experienced. She doesn’t care that you aren’t a virgin. On the contrary, she wants you to please her so you have to know what you are doing. If you don’t know what you’re doing, and you don’t feed her needs, she will find a lover a huevo!

Me: But if she’s a virgin, how will she know what is good or not? It seems like anybody having sex for the first time will think it’s incredible. If you are honest with each other and trusting each other it would probably be fantastic sharing such an intimate thing, even if the other person doesn’t know any more than you do. It would probably be better that way.

Chaparro: It’s the culture, my friend. I could not live with the idea that my wife was disrespected by another man. If someone disrespects her now, just saying something sleazy to her on the street, I would probably (hand motions a gun out of its holster) BOOM BOOM BOOM. (They all laugh)

Me: How would it be disrespect if she chose to have sex with that guy? Along the same logic, wouldn’t you be required to kill your wife too, since she somehow disrespected you before she even knew you?

Chava: You are talking to a big, ignorant, bunch of country folk. They are stuck in their conservative ways. (Gabi, Chucho, Marco and Chaparro starting ripping at him, telling him he just a drunk who knows nothing of real Mexican culture)

Me: But I don’t agree with you either. You do the same exact things they do, like running around to the brothels, but just feel like you can excuse it because you are somehow more liberal than them…? Just because you could marry a woman who is not a virgin, you would still fool around behind her back. You would probably only marry her once she got pregnant. That’s the other half of the culture I see around here.

Marco: We may be ignorant, but at least we know it. We know it is hypocritical, but that’s the culture.

Me: At least you guys are making me look good. I can tell Adalid I am a virgin and because she thinks no guy would ever brag about that, she knows it’s true. It gives us a deep trust for each other that goes beyond our language barrier or communication problem.

Flaco (or “Maestro”): Yes. Exactly. (His arms being thrown in all directions like he is flashing complicated gang signs)

Me: The only person who agrees with me.

Marco: It’s only because he’s so ugly that he hasn’t got with a girl. It has nothing to do with morals.

Me: You guys also make me look good because I tell her I will help her with housework, which of course would be totally expected of me by any American woman, and she thinks I am some savior.

(This gets a rowdy, dissenting laugh)

Chaparro: No, my friend. You can’t do that.

Me: No, you don’t understand. I have to. Even if I didn’t want to, I have been trained to this way of thinking my whole life.

Chaparro: No, no no. Listen. A man has like five major responsibilities here: to work. To cut the lawn. To carry heavy things… um, if there is no water, the man gets a big pole on his back with two buckets and walks down to the well to get the water. And he has to come home, lie down on the couch and say “my love, bring me a plate of fruit.” (this gets a good laugh out of everyone)

Me: No, even though that sounds great, I have been conditioned to help out with all the housework. Right now I do all the housework in my home. It will actually seem like a great help for me just if she helps me out.

Chaparro: No, you are missing the point. We are not asking you. We are telling you. You cannot do that. Otherwise your wife will be so happy she will tell our wives and then we will all be doing housework like you! (this gets another good round of laughter)

I have a good laugh just thinking about that. It was different. I don’t know if I will ever have friends like that again.

There were others too. I met maybe 100 people in the course of the first month I wandered around in town by myself, and maybe another 150 from the kids in the school. I would show up early for my class to play basketball or eat with them or whatever there was to do. Most people treated me very nice – even the teachers liked me a lot. One guy was always trying to invite me out to drink pulque. I just smiled and laughed and pretended like I didn’t understand.

Oh, and I started to see Elias there a lot too, working every other day. I already knew a lot of his friends, but I met even more of his co-workers, probably on a first name basis with at least half the police force in town. This would later thoroughly weird most of my friends out.

And everyday Adalid would show up, we’d walk around, I’d introduce her to the new people I met (even though she already knew, or knew of, most of them). She’d tell me the gossip about this or that person, what they were known for, whatever it happened to be. We’d eat free tortas (my fee for teaching Marco) and chat. I’d walk her to her taxi or bus and she’d be off with a kiss.

I made about 40 pesos a day off classes, which was enough for transportation and food. Carefree, happy days passed one after the next.