A light that never goes out
Lupita Rios Mayorga
met Don
James the day I came to the cafe. I think he has been here forever, seven years ago and now I eat their pastries and coffee. He was quiet, with no one spoke. In seven years is well known a person, for example, I know that Don James is a dapper man in spite of their poverty. Always has corrected his olive green jacket, pants and military boots: remnants of her old life. He worked as a gardener at the presidential palace for over twenty years and to retire the government gave him a home. That's because the wife of former Valers insisted her husband not to let the old forsaken. In an almost private ceremony was given a written acknowledgment and a house with a tiny garden, to be entertained with roses and carnations. Deserved more, but there is well served by having won less than that. It is known that there is much ingratitude among those people. Poor memory, said Don James, forget what you did to work so hard.
The old man has a face wrinkled by the sun, spent his life making furrows in the soil, planting thoughts, orange and purple, creating green areas with grass was thinner than in the country. Their grafts created roses that won the most passionate praise Mrs Valers: he liked to boast about the wives of consuls and European diplomats that Don Jacobo flowers prepared for her. Those days are gone, "says the old man is now dedicated to stroll through the markets early in the morning and breathe the same colors and perfumes to play he got used and without which life is worth a damn.
does live, I asked him one day, I replied that a small pension to which he sends his grandson in Texas. Their only child was a bracero is the United States when she was a teenager and worked there until he died in the eighties, which denied the hospital for not having papers. Inhuman they are, how care is denied to a woman with pneumonia. That is why I have not wanted to go ever further.
II
Over the years, and I love him like a grandfather always try to give the bread as you like and once in a while I prepare some sweet corn tamales. Emilia, I said, your tamales are the tastiest I've eaten. I'm glad because I know I can at least give it a joy. When it comes to coffee sick with olive scarf-like his jacket, and goes to the corner near the kitchen to heal with the smells of freshly baked bread, coffee with cinnamon and sounds of the mud, says that the earth priest even if it is baked. Every Monday arrives with a guest: his journeys through the streets at dawn, accompanied by a friend in distress that usually dies of hunger or cold, and invites a hot chocolate and bread or a pair of fried eggs.
I visited his house two or three times, but only on the outside because I have never been invited to spend. He says he is dirty, messy and did not think it is a careful man. When I take the route of the street and see his step Florence home. The garden is no more than a half feet, a joke, I believe, to this gardener. Is always fixed, with grass and a couple well-pruned red bougainvillea. It is a one-story house, painted by himself you do not understand how a sixty-eight still around on ladders, painting walls and ceiling, a window through which I see a light that never goes out, or night day.
often tells me not to worry, that if one day you do fall or a truck passes overhead, the first one is going to call me. Emilia, I'll send you bring to give me my coffee and my tamales, says with a black humor that I do not understand. Le
banned smoking but ignores doctors. Follow clouds forming under his straw hat and occasionally coughing and I and took the snuff, but later in the butt when he pulls off another Delicado of his jacket.
III
One night seven months ago saw Don Jacobo very dull, I worried about her gray eyes and gray appearance. I gave him every morning as their bread and coffee. Drank quietly and leave with a tomorrow, Emilia. I did not stay quiet, so sad he had never seen the old, so it struck eight o'clock and I left work I headed home. It was a foggy night, heavy and streetlights Florence Street were toothless. I saw the light that was fading from half block before, but when I reached the gate I was shocked to see the blue little door ajar. It was an oversight of that Don James would not be able. I reached the threshold
calling Don James, can you go? For the first time I saw inside the house: a small room with pictures of birds, green and blue, a center table with a lamp and a huge mud-filled altar candles that lit the roof, up a crucifix and holy pictures of each of the There are saints in the calendar. "Don James, can you? There was no response. The spotless kitchen and everything in place, or a misplaced spoon or a frying pan clutter. Don James, I'm Emily, I'll pass, and I was in the doorway of the staircase. It was when I heard a groan, was old and was in distress. Lead me on a weak Emilia, here, Emilia and climbed the stairs hurriedly.
I was dumbfounded when I entered the room where she was, from a suffocating humidity, heat, were arranged five rows of large green bushes and weeds had ever seen. So shocked, I bent to help the gardener. Listen told me, Emilia, pay attention. I felt numb and just answered Do not worry, right now I call a doctor. Let me find a phone, but I was not moving. But he had not finished my sentence when he stopped me, Woman, do not bring any doctor, listen. I peeled her eyes and did what I asked. If you bring medical cops come get me out of the house and leave me lying on Avenida Madero, then I picked up later. All this can not be lost, will be for you, you should care. The old man could barely breathe and while incorporating it with my arms, he insisted on giving me orders.
Listen, go to my bedroom and bring me the bag that's under my bed. I ran with tears and a huge scare into the other room and each of the four, even the bathroom, were full of light green and not faded. He saw no bed or furniture, but behind a row of bushes was a cot. I looked down and only had shoes and cigarette butts. I kept looking for trouble and the wall had a hole covered with a large stone but light, and moved. There was a leather suitcase faded as I saw nothing, I took the old man who complained more pain. Open it, open it. I opened it and found out a thick book that said CANNABIS INDICA, a very thick wad of dollars, a notebook with names, addresses and phone and a gun. All this at a glance. Hurry, then read them, now keep them well and take me to tell you, Emilia. I could not do that, I could not leave the old on a cold street to die alone and in the meantime pain. He insisted If you do not do what I say, all is lost. Not that at that time considered that coffee did not forge a future, or wealth that promised these plants, only wanted to please Don James, come on, fulfilling his final wishes. And I did. We walked together, I helped him last walk to Avenida Madero, he gathered his remaining strength and kiss me goodbye. His eyes were a light that has gone into my consciousness.
I called Green Cross at dawn the next day. I recognized him, I said I wanted as my grandfather and then gave me his ashes. That day I went to the coffee, I called Dona Teresa and told her what the old man, she understood.
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